w. 


.  / 


[See  page  318 

O'REILLY  STOOD  BLINKING  AT  THE  SIGHT  EXPOSED,  FOR  THE  LITTLE 
BARREL  WAS  FULL  OF  COINS — YELLOW  COINS,  LARGE  AND  SMALL 


A    NOVEL 
BY 

REX    BEACH 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  IRON  TRAIL"  "THE  SPOILERS" 
"  HEART  OF  THE  SUNSET"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW    YORK    &    LONDON 


BOOKS  BY 
REX   BEACH 

RAINBOW'S  END 

THE  CRIMSON  GARDENIA  AND  OTHER 

TALES  OF  ADVENTURE 
HEART  OF  THE  SUNSET 
THE  AUCTION  BLOCK 
THE   IRON  TRAIL 
THE   NET 

THE   NE'ER-DO-WELL 
THE   SPOILERS 
THE  BARRIER 
THE  SILVER  HORDE 
GOING   SOME 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


RAINBOW'S  END 


Copyright,   1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  September,  1916 

i-Q 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  VALLEY  OF  DELIGHT i 

II.  SPANISH  GOLD 14 

III.  "THE   O'REILLY" 28 

IV.  RETRIBUTION 44 

V.  A  CRY  FROM  THE  WILDERNESS 62 

VI.  THE  QUEST  BEGINS 75 

VII.  THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  KNOW  LIFE 87 

VIII.  THE  SPANISH  DOUBLOON 97 

IX.  MARAUDERS 108 

X.  O'REILLY  TALKS  HOG  LATIN 119 

XI.  THE  HAND  OF  THE  CAPTAIN-GENERAL      ....  129 

XII.  WHEN  THE  WORLD  RAN  BACKWARD 142 

XIII.  CAPITULATION 151 

XIV.  A  WOMAN  WITH  A  MISSION 156 

XV.  FILIBUSTERS 166 

XVI.  THE  CITY  AMONG  THE  LEAVES 178 

XVII.  THE  CITY  OF  BEGGARS .  190 

XVIII.  SPEAKING  OF  FOOD 206 

XIX.  THAT  SICK  MAN  FROM  SAN  ANTONIO 224 

XX.  EL  DEMONIO'S  CHILD 240 

XXI.  TREASURE 251 

XXII.  THE  TROCHA 264 

XXIII.  INTO  THE  CITY  OF  DEATH 274 

XXIV.-  ROSA 287 

XXV.  THE  HAUNTED  GARDEN -.    .  301 

XXVI.  How  COBO  STOOD  ON  His  HEAD 315 

XXVII.  MORIN,  THE  FISHERMAN 326 

XXVIII.  THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 340 

XXIX.  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  SUNDOWN 354 

XXX.  THE  OWL  AND  THE  PUSSY-CAT 365 


I 7 

-L  i 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

O'REILLY  STOOD  BLINKING  AT  THE  SIGHT  EXPOSED, 
FOR  THE  LITTLE  BARREL  WAS  FULL  OF  COINS — 
YELLOW  COINS,  LARGE  AND  SMALL  ....  Frontispiece 

"AH-H!  Now  I  SEE!  IT  Is  MY  STEPMOTHER.  SHE 

Is  ASLEEP" Fating P-  52 

BRANCH'S  EYES  WERE  GLUED  UPON  THE  CHILD  IN 

HORRIFIED  FASCINATION "  234 

IT  WAS  O'REILLY! '   "       352 


RAINBOW'S    END 


RAINBOW'S    END 


THE  VALLEY  OF  DELIGHT 

IN  all  probability  your  first  view  of  the  valley  of  the 
Yumuri  will  be  from  the  Hermitage  of  Montserrate, 
for  it  is  there  that  the  cocheros  drive  you.  Up  the  winding 
road  they  take  you,  with  the  bay  at  your  back  and  the 
gorge  at  your  right,  to  the  crest  of  a  narrow  ridge  where 
the  chapel  stands.  Once  there,  you  overlook  the  fairest 
sight  in  all  Christendom — "the  loveliest  valley  in  the 
world,"  as  Humboldt  called  it — for  the  Yumuri  nestles 
right  at  your  feet,  a  vale  of  pure  delight,  a  glimpse  of 
Paradise  that  bewilders  the  eye  and  fills  the  soul  with 
ecstasy. 

It  is  larger  than  it  seems  at  first  sight;  through  it  mean 
ders  the  river,  coiling  and  uncoiling,  hidden  here  and  there 
by  jungle  growths,  and  seeking  final  outlet  through  a 
cleft  in  the  wall  not  unlike  a  crack  in  the  side  of  a  painted 
bowl.  The  place  seems  to  have  been  fashioned  as  a 
dwelling  for  dryads  and  hamadryads,  for  nixies  and 
pixies,  and  all  the  fabled  spirits  of  forest  and  stream. 
Fairy  hands  tinted  its  steep  slopes  and  carpeted  its  level 
floor  with  the  richest  of  green  brocades.  Nowhere  is 
there  a  clash  of  color;  nowhere  does  a  naked  hillside 
or  monstrous  jut  of  rock  obtrude  to  mar  its  placid  beauty; 


RAINBOW'S    END 

nowhere  can  you  see  a  crude,  disfiguring  mark  of  man's 
handiwork — there  are  only  fields,  and  bowers,  with  an 
occasional  thatched  roof  faded  gray  by  the  sun. 

Royal  palms,  most  perfect  of  trees,  are  scattered  every 
where.  They  stand  alone  or  in  stately  groves,  their 
lush  fronds  drooping  like  gigantic  ostrich  plumes,  their 
slim  trunks  as  smooth  and  regular  and  white  as  if  turned 
in  a  giant  lathe  and  then  rubbed  with  pipe-clay.  In 
all  Cuba,  island  of  bewitching  vistas,  there  is  no  other 
Yumuri,  and  in  all  the  wide  world,  perhaps,  there  is  no 
valley  of  moods  and  aspects  so  varying.  You  should  see 
it  at  evening,  all  warm  and  slumberous,  all  gold  and  green 
and  purple;  or  at  early  dawn,  when  the  mists  are  fading 
like  pale  memories  of  dreams  and  the  tints  are  delicate; 
or  again,  during  a  tempest,  when  it  is  a  caldron  of  whirling 
vapors  and  when  the  palm-trees  bend  like  coryphees, 
tossing  their  arms  to  the  galloping  hurricane.  But  what 
ever  the  time  of  day  or  the  season  of  the  year  at  which 
you  visit  it,  the  Yumuri  will  render  you  wordless  with 
delight,  and  you  will  vow  that  it  is  the  happiest  valley 
men's  eyes  have  ever  looked  upon. 

Standing  there  beside  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Mont- 
serrate,  you  will  see  beyond  the  cleft  through  which  the 
river  emerges  another  hill,  La  Cumbre,  from  which 
the  view  is  almost  as  wonderful,  and  your  driver  may  tell 
you  about  the  splendid  homes  that  used  to  grace  its  slopes 
in  the  golden  days  when  Cuba  had  an  aristocracy.  They 
were  classic  Roman  villas,  such  as  once  lined  the  Via 
Appia  —  little  palaces,  with  mosaics  and  marbles  and 
precious  woods  imported  from  Europe,  and  furnished 
with  the  rarest  treasures — for  in  those  days  the  Cuban 
planters  were  rich  and  spent  their  money  lavishly.  Melan 
choly  reminders  of  this  splendor  exist  even  now  in  the 
shape  of  a  crumbled  ruin  here  and  there,  a  lichened  pillar, 
an  occasional  porcelain  urn  in  its  place  atop  a  vine- 
grown  bit  of  wall.  Your  cochero  may  point  out  a  certain 

2 


THE   VALLEY   OF   DELIGHT 

grove  of  orange-trees,  now  little  more  than  a  rank  tangle, 
and  tell  you  about  the  quinta  of  Don  Este"ban  Varona, 
and  its  hidden  treasure;  about  little  Est6ban  and  Rosa, 
the  twins;  and  about  Sebastian,  the  giant  slave,  who 
died  in  fury,  taking  with  him  the  secret  of  the  well. 

The  Spanish  Main  is  rich  in  tales  of  treasure-trove,  for 
when  the  Antilles  were  most  affluent  they  were  least 
secure,  and  men  were  put  to  strange  shifts  to  protect 
their  fortunes.  Certain  hoards,  like  jewels  of  tragic  his 
tory,  in  time  assumed  a  sort  of  evil  personality,  not  in 
frequently  exercising  a  dire  influence  over  the  lives  of 
those  who  chanced  to  fall  under  their  spells.  It  was  as 
if  the  money  were  accursed,  for  certainly  the  seekers  often 
came  to  evil.  Of  such  a  character  was  the  Varona 
treasure.  Don  Este*ban  himself  was  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  other  men  of  his  time,  and  although  part  of  the 
money  he  hid  was  wrung  from  the  toil  of  slaves  and  the 
traffic  in  their  bodies,  much  of  it  was  clean  enough,  and 
in  time  the  earth  purified  it  all.  Since  his  acts  made  so 
deep  an  impress,  and  since  the  treasure  he  left  played  so 
big  a  part  in  the  destinies  of  those  who  came  after  him, 
it  is  well  that  some  account  of  these  matters  should  be 
given. 

The  story,  please  remember,  is  an  old  one;  it  has  been 
often  told,  and  in  the  telling  and  retelling  it  is  but  natural 
that  a  certain  glamour,  a  certain  tropical  extravagance, 
should  attach  to  it,  therefore  you  should  make  allowance 
for  some  exaggeration,  some  accretions  due  to  the  lapse 
of  time.  In  the  main,  however,  it  is  well  authenticated 
and  runs  parallel  to  fact. 

Dona  Rosa  Varona  lived  barely  long  enough  to  learn  that 
she  had  given  birth  to  twins.  Don  Este"ban,  whom  people 
knew  as  a  grim  man,  took  the  blow  of  his  sudden  bereave 
ment  as  became  one  of  his  strong  fiber.  Leaving  the 
priest  upon  his  knees  and  the  doctor  busied  with  the  babies, 
he  strode  through  the  house  and  out  into  the  sunset,  fol- 

3 


RAINBOW'S   END 

lowed  by  the  wails  of  the  slave  women.  From  the  negro 
quarters  came  the  sound  of  other  and  even  louder  lamen 
tations,  for  Dona  Rosa  had  been  well  loved  and  the  news 
of  her  passing  had  spread  quickly. 

Don  Este'ban  was  at  heart  a  selfish  man,  and  now, 
therefore,  he  felt  a  sullen,  fierce  resentment  mingled  with 
his  grief.  What  trick  was  this?  he  asked  himself.  What 
had  he  done  to  merit  such  misfortune?  Had  he  not  made 
rich  gifts  to  the  Church?  Had  he  not  gone  on  foot  to  the 
shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Montserrate  with  a  splendid  votive 
offering — a  pair  of  eardrops,  a  necklace,  and  a  crucifix, 
all  of  diamonds  that  quivered  in  the  sunlight  like  drops  of 
purest  water?  Had  he  not  knelt  and  prayed  for  his 
wife's  safe  delivery  and  then  hung  his  gifts  upon  the 
sacred  image,  as  Loyola  had  hung  up  his  weapons  before 
that  other  counterpart  of  Our  Lady?  Don  Est6ban 
scowled  at  the  memory,  for  those  gems  were  of  the  finest, 
and  certainly  of  a  value  sufficient  to  recompense  the  Virgin 
for  any  ordinary  miracle.  They  were  worth  five  thousand 
pesos  at  least,  he  told  himself;  they  represented  the  price 
of  five  slaves — five  of  his  finest  girls,  schooled  in  house 
keeping  and  of  an  age  suitable  for  breeding.  An  extrava 
gance,  truly!  Don  Este'ban  knew  the  value  of  money  as 
well  as  anybody,  and  he  swore  now  that  he  would  give  no 
more  to  the  Church. 

He  looked  up  from  his  unhappy  musings  to  find  a  gigan 
tic,  barefooted  negro  standing  before  him.  The  slave 
was  middle-aged;  his  kinky  hair  was  growing  gray;  but 
he  was  of  superb  proportions,  and  the  muscles  which 
showed  through  the  rents  in  his  cotton  garments  were  as 
smooth  and  supple  as  those  of  a  stripling.  His  black  face 
was  puckered  with  grief,  as  he  began: 

"Master,  is  it  true  that  Dona  Rosa — "  The  fellow 
choked. 

"Yes,"  Este'ban  nodded,  wearily,  "she  is  dead,  Se 
bastian." 


THE   VALLEY   OF   DELIGHT 

Tears  came  to  Sebastian's  eyes  and  overflowed  his 
cheeks;  he  stood  motionless,  striving  to  voice  his  sym 
pathy.  At  length  he  said: 

"  She  was  too  good  for  this  world.  God  was  jealous  and 
took  her  to  Paradise." 

The  widowed  man  cried  out,  angrily: 

"Paradise!  What  is  this  but  paradise?"  He  stared 
with  resentful  eyes  at  the  beauty  round  about  him.  "  See ! 
The  Yumuri!"  Don  Este"ban  flung  a  long  arm  outward. 
"Do  you  think  there  is  a  sight  like  that  in  heaven?  And 
yonder — "  He  turned  to  the  harbor  far  below,  with  its 
fleet  of  sailing-ships  resting  like  a  flock  of  gulls  upon  a  sea 
of  quicksilver.  Beyond  the  bay,  twenty  miles  distant, 
a  range  of  hazy  mountains  hid  the  horizon.  Facing  to 
the  south,  Este"ban  looked  up  the  full  length  of  the  valley 
of  the  San  Juan,  clear  to  the  majestic  Pan  de  Matanzas, 
a  wonderful  sight  indeed;  then  his  eyes  returned,  as  they 
always  did,  to  the  Yumuri,  Valley  of  Delight.  "Paradise 
indeed!"  he  muttered.  "I  gave  her  everything.  She 
gained  nothing  by  dying." 

With  a  grave  thoughtfulness  which  proved  him  superior 
to  the  ordinary  slave,  Sebastian  replied: 

"True!  She  had  all  that  any  woman's  heart  could 
desire,  but  in  return  for  your  goodness  she  gave  you 
children.  You  have  lost  her,  but  you  have  gained  an  heir, 
and  a  beautiful  girl  baby  who  will  grow  to  be  another 
Dona  Rosa.  I  grieved  as  you  grieve,  once  upon  a  time, 
for  my  woman  died  in  childbirth,  too.  You  remember? 
But  my  daughter  lives,  and  she  has  brought  sunshine  into 
my  old  age.  That  is  the  purpose  of  children."  He 
paused  and  shifted  his  weight  uncertainly,  digging  his 
stiff  black  toes  into  the  dirt.  After  a  time  he  said,  slowly: 
"Excellency!  Now,  about  the — well — ?" 

"Yes.  What  about  it  ?"  Este"ban  lifted  smoldering  eyes. 

"Did  the  Dona  Rosa  confide  her  share  of  the  secret  to 
any  one?  Those  priests  and  those  doctors,  you  know — ?" 

5 


RAINBOW'S   END 

"She  died  without  speaking." 

"Then  it  rests  between  you  and  me?" 

"It  does,  unless  you  have  babbled."          is 

"Master!"  Sebastian  drew  himself  up  and  there  was 
real  dignity  in  his  black  face. 

"Understand,  my  whole  fortune  is  there — everything, 
even  to  the  deeds  of  patent  for  the  plantations.  If  I 
thought  there  was  danger  of  your  betraying  me  I  would 
have  your  tongue  pulled  out  and  your  eyes  torn  from  their 
sockets." 

The  black  man  spoke  with  a  simplicity  that  carried 
conviction.  "You  have  seen  me  tested.  You  know  I 
am  faithful.  But,  master,  this  secret  is  a  great  burden 
for  my  old  shoulders,  and  I  have  been  thinking —  Times 
are  unsettled,  Don  Este*ban,  and  death  comes  without 
warning.  You  are  known  to  be  the  richest  man  in  this 
province  and  these  government  officials  are  robbers. 
Suppose — I  should  be  left  alone?  What  then?" 

The  planter  considered  for  a  moment.  "They  are  my 
countrymen,  but  a  curse  on  them,"  he  said,  finally. 
"Well,  when  my  children  are  old  enough  to  hold  their 
tongues  they  will  have  to  be  told.  If  I'm  gone,  you  shall 
be  the  one  to  tell  them.  Now  leave  me;  this  is  no  time  to 
speak  of  such  things." 

Sebastian  went  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  come.  On  his 
way  back  to  his  quarters  he  took  the  path  to  the  well — 
the  place  where  most  of  his  time  was  ordinarily  spent. 
Sebastian  had  dug  this  well,  and  with  his  own  hands  he 
had  beautified  its  surroundings  until  they  were  the 
loveliest  on  the  Varona  grounds.  The  rock  for  the  build 
ing  of  the  quinta  had  been  quarried  here,  and  in  the  center 
of  the  resulting  depression,  grass-grown  and  flowering  now, 
was  the  well  itself.  Its  waters  seeped  from  subterranean 
caverns  and  filtered,  pure  and  cool,  through  the  porous 
country  rock.  Plantain,  palm,  orange,  and  tamarind  trees 
bordered  the  hollow;  over  the  rocky  walls  ran  a  riot  of 

6 


THE    VALLEY   OF    DELIGHT 

vines  and  ferns  and  ornamental  plants.  .,  It  was  Sebas 
tian's  task  to  keep  this  place  green,  and  thither  he  took 
his  way,  from  force  of  habit. 

Through  the  twilight  came  Pancho  Cueto,  the  manager, 
a  youngish  man,  with  a  narrow  face  and  bold,  close-set 
eyes.  Spying  Sebastian,  he  began: 

"So  Don  Este"ban  has  an  heir  at  last?" 

The  slave  rubbed  his  eyes  with  the  heel  of  his  huge 
yellow  palm  and  answered,  respectfully: 

' '  Yes,  Don  Pancho.  Two  little  angels,  a  boy  and  a  girl. ' ' 
His  gray  brows  drew  together  in  a  painful  frown.  "  Dona 
Rosa  was  a  saint.  No  doubt  there  is  great  rejoicing  in 
heaven  at  her  coming.  Eh?  What  do  you  think?" 

"Um-m!  Possibly.  Don  Este"ban  will  miss  her  for  a 
time  and  then,  I  dare  say,  he  will  remarry."  At  the 
negro's  exclamation  Cueto  cried:  "So!  And  why  not? 
Everybody  knows  how  rich  he  is.  From  Oriente  to  Pinar 
del  Rio  the  women  have  heard  about  his  treasure." 

"What  treasure?"  asked  Sebastian,  after  an  instant's 
pause. 

Cueto's  dark  eyes  gleamed  resentfully  at  this  show  of 
ignorance,  but  he  laughed. 

"  Ho !  There's  a  careful  fellow  for  you !  No  wonder  he 
trusts  you.  But  do  you  think  I  have  neither  eyes  nor 
ears?  My  good  Sebastian,  you  know  all  about  that 
treasure ;  in  fact,  you  know  far  more  about  many  things 
than  Don  Este"ban  would  care  to  have  you  tell.  Come 
now,  don't  you?" 

Sebastian's  face  was  like  a  mask  carved  from  ebony. 
"Of  what  does  this  treasure  consist?"  he  inquired.  "I 
have  never  heard  about  it." 

"Of  gold,  of  jewels,  of  silver  bars  and  precious  orna 
ments."  Cueto's  head  was  thrust  forward,  his  nostrils 
were  dilated,  his  teeth  gleamed.  "Oh,  it  is  somewhere 
about,  as  you  very  well  know!  Bah!  Don't  deny  it. 
I'm  no  fool.  What  becomes  of  the  money  from  the  slave 

7 


RAINBOW'S    END 

girls,  eh?  And  the  sugar  crops,  too?  Does  it  go  to  buy 
arms  and  ammunition  for  the  rebels?  No.  DonEste"ban 
hides  it,  and  you  help  him.  Come,"  he  cried,  disregarding 
Sebastian's  murmurs  of  protest,  "did  you  ever  think  how 
fabulous  that  fortune  must  be  by  this  time?  Did  you 
ever  think  that  one  little  gem,  one  bag  of  gold,  would  buy 
your  freedom?" 

"  Don  Este"ban  has  promised  to  buy  my  freedom  and  the 
freedom  of  my  girl." 

' '  So  ?"  The  manager  was  plainly  surprised.  ' '  I  didn't 
know  that."  After  a  moment  he  began  to  laugh.  "And 
yet  you  pretend  to  know  nothing  about  that  treasure? 
Ha!  You're  a  good  boy,  Sebastian,  and  so  I  am.  I 
admire  you.  We're  both  loyal  to  our  master,  eh?  But 
now  about  Evangelina."  Cueto's  face  took  on  a  craftier 
expression.  "She  is  a  likely  girl,  and  when  she  grows 
up  she  will  be  worth  more  than  you,  her  father.  Don't 
forget  that  Don  Esteban  is  before  all  else  a  business  man. 
Be  careful  that  some  one  doesn't  make  him  so  good  an 
offer  for  your  girl  that  he  will  forget  his  promise  and — 
sell  her." 

Sebastian  uttered  a  hoarse,  animal  cry  and  the  whites 
of  his  eyes  showed  through  the  gloom.  "He  would  never 
sell  Evangelina!" 

Cueto  laughed  aloud  once  more.  "Of  course!  He 
would  not  dare,  eh?  I  am  only  teasing  you.  But  see! 
You  have  given  yourself  away.  Everything  you  tell  me 
proves  that  you  know  all  about  that  treasure." 

"I  know  but  one  thing,"  the  slave  declared,  stiffening 
himself  slowly,  "and  that  is  to  be  faithful  to  Don  Este*- 
ban."  He  turned  and  departed,  leaving  Pancho  Cueto 
staring  after  him  meditatively. 

In  the  days  following  the  birth  of  his  children  and  the 
death  of  his  wife,  Don  Esteban  Varona,  as  had  been  his 
custom,  steered  a  middle  course  in  politics,  in  that  way 
managing  to  avoid  a  clash  with  the  Spanish  officials  who 

8 


THE    VALLEY   OF    DELIGHT 

ruled  the  island,  or  an  open  break  with  his  Cuban  neigh 
bors,  who  rebelled  beneath  their  wrongs.  This  was  no 
easy  thing  to  do,  for  the  agents  of  the  crown  were  uni 
formly  corrupt  and  quite  ruthless,  while  most  of  the 
native-born  were  either  openly  or  secretly  in  sympathy 
with  the  revolution  in  the  Orient.  But  Este*ban  dealt 
diplomatically  with  both  factions  and  went  on  raising 
slaves  and  sugar  to  his  own  great  profit.  Owing  to  the 
impossibility  of  importing  negroes,  the  market  steadily 
improved,  and  Estelban  reaped  a  handsome  profit  from 
those  he  had  on  hand,  especially  when  his  crop  of  young 
girls  matured.  His  sugar-plantations  prospered,  too,  and 
Pancho  Cueto,  who  managed  them,  continued  to  wonder 
where  the  money  went. 

The  twins,  Esteban  and  Rosa,  developed  into  healthy 
children  and  became  the  pride  of  Sebastian  and  his 
daughter,  into  whose  care  they  had  been  given.  As  for 
Evangelina,  the  young  negress,  she  grew  tall  and  strong 
and  handsome,  until  she  was  the  finest  slave  girl  in  the 
neighborhood.  Whenever  Sebastian  looked  at  her  he 
thanked  God  for  his  happy  circumstances. 

Then,  one  day,  Don  Esteban  Varona  remarried,  and  the 
Dona  Isabel,  who  had  been  a  famous  Habana  beauty, 
came  to  live  at  the  quinta.  The  daughter  of  impoverished 
parents,  she  had  heard  and  thought  much  about  the 
mysterious  treasure  of  La  Cumbre. 

There  followed  a  period  of  feasting  and  entertainment, 
of  music  and  merrymaking.  Spanish  officials,  prominent 
civilians  of  Matanzas  and  the  countryside,  drove  up  the  hill 
to  welcome  DonEst^ban's  bride.  But  before  the  first  fervor 
of  his  honeymoon  cooled  the  groom  began  to  fear  that  he 
had  made  a  serious  mistake.  Dona  Isabel,  he  discovered, 
was  both  vain  and  selfish.  Not  only  did  she  crave  luxury 
and  display,  but  with  singular  persistence  she  demanded 
to  know  all  about  her  husband's  financial  affairs. 

Now  Don  Esteban  was  no  longer  young;  age  had 
2  9 


RAINBOW'S   END 

soured  him  with  suspicion,  and  when  once  he  saw  himself 
as  the  victim  of  a  mercenary  marriage  he  turned  bitterly 
against  his  wife.  Her  curiosity  he  sullenly  resented,  and 
he  unblushingly  denied  his  possession  of  any  considerable 
wealth.  In  fact,  he  tried  with  malicious  ingenuity  to 
make  her  believe  him  a  poor  man.  But  Isabel  was  not 
of  the  sort  to  be  readily  deceived.  Finding  her  arts  and 
coquetries  of  no  avail,  she  flew  into  a  rage,  and  a  furious 
quarrel  ensued — the  first  of  many.  For  the  lady  could 
not  rest  without  knowing  all  there  was  to  know  about  the 
treasure.  Avaricious  to  her  finger-tips,  she  itched  to 
weigh  those  bags  of  precious  metal  and  yearned  to  see 
those  jewels  burning  upon  her  bosom.  Her  mercenary 
mind  magnified  their  value  many  times,  and  her  anger  at 
Don  Este"ban's  obstinacy  deepened  to  a  smoldering  hatred. 

She  searched  the  quinta,  of  course,  whenever  she  had  a 
chance,  but  she  discovered  nothing — with  the  result  that 
the  mystery  began  to  engross  her  whole  thought.  She 
pried  into  the  obscurest  corners,  she  questioned  the 
slaves,  she  lay  awake  at  night  listening  to  Este"ban's 
breathing,  in  the  hope  of  surprising  his  secret  from  his 
dreams.  Naturally  such  a  life  was  trying  to  the  husband, 
but  as  his  wife's  obsession  grew  his  determination  to  foil 
her  only  strengthened.  Outwardly,  of  course,  the  pair 
maintained  a  show  of  harmony,  for  they  were  proud  and 
they  occupied  a  position  of  some  consequence  in  the 
community.  But  their  private  relations  went  from  bad 
to  worse.  At  length  a  time  came  when  they  lived  in 
frank  enmity;  when  Isabel  never  spoke  to  Este"ban  except 
in  reproach  or  anger,  and  when  Este"ban  unlocked  his 
lips  only  to  taunt  his  wife  with  the  fact  that  she  had 
been  thwarted  despite  her  cunning. 

In  most  quarters,  as  time  went  on,  the  story  of  the 
Varona  treasure  was  forgotten,  or  at  least  put  down  as 
legendary.  Only  Isabel,  who,  in  spite  of  her  husband's 
secretiveness,  learned  much,  and  Pancho  Cueto,  who 

10 


THE   VALLEY   OF    DELIGHT 

'kept  his  own  account  of  the  annual  income  from  the 
business,  held  the  matter  in  serious  remembrance.  The 
overseer  was  a  patient  man;  he  watched  with  interest  the 
growing  discord  at  the  quinta  and  planned  to  profit  by  it, 
should  occasion  offer. 

It  was  only  natural  under  such  conditions  that  Dona 
Isabel  should  learn  to  dislike  her  stepchildren — Este'ban 
had  told  her  frankly  that  they  would  inherit  whatever 
fortune  he  possessed.  The  thought  that,  after  all,  she 
might  never  share  in  the  treasure  for  which  she  had  sac 
rificed  her  youth  and  beauty  was  like  to  drive  the  woman 
mad,  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  she  found  ways  to  vent 
her  spite  upon  the  twins.  She  widened  her  hatred  so  as  to 
include  old  Sebastian  and  his  daughter,  and  even  went  so 
far  as  to  persecute  Evangelina's  sweetheart,  a  slave  named 
Asensio. 

It  had  not  taken  Dona  Isabel  long  to  guess  the  reason  for 
Sebastian's  many  privileges,  and  one  of  her  first  efforts  had 
been  to  win  the  old  man's  confidence.  It  was  in  vain, 
however,  that  she  flattered  and  cajoled,  or  stormed  and 
threatened;  Sebastian  withstood  her  as  a  towering  ceiba 
withstands  the  summer  heat  and  the  winter  hurricane. 

His  firmness  made  her  vindictive,  and  so  in  time  she 
laid  a  scheme  to  estrange  him  from  his  master. 

Dona  Isabel  was  crafty.  She  began  to  complain  about 
Evangelina,  but  it  was  only  after  many  months  that  she 
ventured  to  suggest  to  her  husband  that  he  sell  the  girl. 
Este'ban,  of  course,  refused  point-blank;  he  was  too  fond 
of  Sebastian's  daughter,  he  declared,  to  think  of  such  a 
thing. 

"So,  that  is  it,"  sneered  Dona  Isabel.  "Well,  she  is 
young  and  shapely  and  handsome,  as  wenches  go.  I 
rather  suspected  you  were  fond  of  her — " 

With  difficulty  Este'ban  restrained  an  oath.  "You 
mistake  my  meaning,"  he  said,  stiffly.  " Sebastian  has 
served  me  faithfully,  and  Evangelina  plays  with  my 

ii 


RAINBOW'S    END 

children.  She  is  good  to  them;  she  is  more  of  a  mother 
to  them  than  you  have  ever  been." 

"Is  that  why  you  dress  her  like  a  lady?  Bah!  A 
likely  story!"  Isabel  tossed  her  fine,  dark  head.  "I'm 
not  blind ;  I  see  what  goes  on  about  me.  This  will  make 
a  pretty  scandal  among  your  friends — she  as  black  as  the 
pit,  and  you — " 

"  Woman!"  shouted  the  planter,  "  you  have  a  sting  like  a 
scorpion." 

"I  won't  have  that  wench  in  my  house,"  Isabel  flared 
out  at  him. 

Goaded  to  fury  by  his  wife's  senseless  accusation, 
Este"ban  cried :  ' '  Your  house  ?  By  what  license  do  you  call 
it  yours?" 

"Am  I  not  married  to  you?" 

"Damnation!  Yes — as  a  leech  is  married  to  its 
victim.  You  suck  my  blood." 

"Your  blood!"  The  woman  laughed  shrilly.  "You 
have  no  blood;  your  veins  run  vinegar.  You  are  a 
miser." 

"Miser!  Miser!  I  grow  sick  of  the  word.  It  is  all 
you  find  to  taunt  me  with.  Confess  that  you  married  me 
for  my  money,"  he  roared. 

"Of  course  I  did!  Do  you  think  a  woman  of  my 
beauty  would  marry  you  for  anything  else?  But  a  fine 
bargain  I  made!" 

"Vampire!" 

"Wife  or  vampire,  I  intend  to  rule  this  house,  and  I 
refuse  to  be  shamed  by  a  thick-lipped  African.  Her  airs 
tell  her  story.  She  is  insolent  to  me,  but — I  sha'n't  endure 
it.  She  laughs  at  me.  Well,  your  friends  shall  laugh  at 
you." 

"Silence!"  commanded  Este"ban. 

"Sell  her." 

"No." 

"Sell  her,  or— " 

12 


THE    VALLEY   OF    DELIGHT 

Without  waiting  to  hear  her  threat  Este*ban  tossed  his 
arms  above  his  head  and  fled  from  the  room.  Flinging 
himself  into  the  saddle,  he  spurred  down  the  hill  and 
through  the  town  to  the  Casino  de  Espanol,  where  he 
spent  the  night  at  cards  with  the  Spanish  officials.  But 
he  did  not  sell  Evangelina. 

In  the  days  that  followed  many  similar  scenes  occurred, 
and  as  Este"ban's  home  life  grew  more  unhappy  his  dis 
sipations  increased.  He  drank  and  gambled  heavily;  he 
brought  his  friends  to  the  quinta  with  him,  and  strove  to 
forget  domestic  unpleasantness  in  boisterous  revelry. 

His  wife,  however,  found  opportunities  enough  to  weary 
and  exasperate  him  with  reproaches  regarding  the  slave 
girl. 


II 

SPANISH  GOLD 

'"PHE  twins  were  seven  years  old  when  Dona  Isabel's 
1  schemes  bore  their  first  bitter  fruit,  and  the  occasion 
was  a  particularly  uproarious  night  when  Don  Este"ban 
entertained  a  crowd  of  his  Castilian  friends.  Little  Rosa 
was  awakened  at  a  late  hour  by  the  laughter  and  shouts 
of  her  father's  guests.  She  was  afraid,  for  there  was 
something  strange  about  the  voices,  some  quality  to  them 
which  was  foreign  to  the  child's  experience.  Creeping 
into  her  brother's  room,  she  awoke  him,  and  together  they 
listened. 

Don  Mario  de  Castano  was  singing  a  song,  the  words  of 
which  were  lost,  but  which  brought  a  yell  of  approval  from 
his  companions.  The  twins  distinguished  the  voice  of 
Don  Pablo  Peza,  too — Don  Pablo,  whose  magnificent 
black  beard  had  so  often  excited  their  admiration.  Yes, 
and  there  was  Col.  Mendoza  y  Linares,  doubtless  in 
his  splendid  uniform.  These  gentlemen  were  well  and 
favorably  known  to  the  boy  and  girl,  yet  Rosa  began  to 
whimper,  and  when  Est6ban  tried  to  reassure  her  his  own 
voice  was  thin  and  reedy  from  fright. 

In  the  midst  of  their  agitation  they  heard  some  one 
weeping;  there  came  a  rush  of  feet  down  the  hallway, 
and  the  next  instant  Evangelina  flung  herself  into  the 
room.  A  summer  moon  flooded  the  chamber  with  ra 
diance  and  enabled  her  to  see  the  two  small  white  figures 
sitting  up  in  the  middle  of  the  bed. 

Evangelina  fell  upon  her  knees  before  them.  "Little 

14 


SPANISH    GOLD 

master!  Little  mistress!"  she  sobbed.  "You  will  save 
me,  won't  you?  We  love  each  other,  eh?  See  then,  what 
a  crime  this  is!  Say  that  you  will  save  me!"  She  was 
beside  herself,  and  her  voice  was  hoarse  and  cracked  from 
grief.  She  wrung  her  hands,  she  rocked  herself  from  side 
to  side,  she  kissed  the  twins'  nightgowns,  tugging  at  them 
convulsively. 

The  children  were  frightened,  but  they  managed  to 
quaver:  "What  has  happened?  Who  has  harmed  you?" 

' '  Don  Pablo  Peza, ' '  wept  the  negress.  4 '  Your  father  has 
sold  me  to  him — lost  me  at  cards.  Oh,  I  shall  die! 
Sebastian  won't  believe  it.  He  is  praying.  And  Asen- 
sio —  O  God!  But  what  can  they  do  to  help  me?  You 
alone  can  save  me.  You  won't  let  Don  Pablo  take  me 
away  ?  It  would  kill  me. " 

"Wait!"  Este"ban  scrambled  out  of  bed  and  stood  be 
side  his  dusky  nurse  and  playmate.  ' '  Don't  cry  any  more . 
I'll  tell  papa  that  you  don't  like  Don  Pablo." 

Rosa  followed.  "Yes,  come  along,  brother,"  she  cried, 
shrilly.  "We'll  tell  Don  Pablo  to  go  home  and  leave  our 
Evangelina." 

"My  blessed  doves!  But  will  they  listen  to  you?" 
moaned  the  slave. 

"Papa  does  whatever  we  ask,"  they  assured  her, 
gravely.  "If  he  should  growl  we'll  come  back  and  hide 
you  in  the  big  wardrobe  where  nobody  will  ever  find  you." 
Then  hand  in  hand,  with  their  long  nightgowns  lifted  to 
their  knees,  they  pattered  out  into  the  hall  and  down 
toward  the  living-room,  whence  came  the  shouting  and  the 
laughter. 

Don  Mario  de  Castano,  who  was  facing  the  door, 
stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  ribald  song  to  cry:  "God  be 
praised!  What's  this  I  see?" 

The  others  looked  and  then  burst  into  merriment,  for 
across  the  litter  of  cards  and  dice  and  empty  glasses  they 
saw  a  dimpled  girl  and  boy,  as  like  as  two  peas.  They 


RAINBOW'S    END 

were  just  out  of  bed ;  they  were  peering  through  the  smoke, 
and  blinking  like  two  little  owls.  Their  evident  embar 
rassment  amused  the  guests  hugely. 

"So!  You  awaken  the  household  with  your  songs," 
some  one  chided  Don  Mario. 

"Two  cherubs  from  heaven,"  another  exclaimed. 

And  a  third  cried,  "A  toast  to  Este"ban's  beautiful 
children." 

But  the  father  lurched  forward,  a  frown  upon  his  face. 
"What  is  this,  my  dears?"  he  inquired,  thickly.  "Run 
back  to  your  beds.  This  is  no  place  for  you." 

"We  love  Evangelina,"  piped  the  twins.  "You  must 
not  let  Don  Pablo  have  her — if  you  please." 

"Evangelina?" 

They  nodded.  "We  love  her.  .  .  .  She  plays  with  us 
every  day.  .  .  .  We  want  her  to  stay  here.  .  .  .  She  belongs 
to  us." 

Accustomed  as  they  were  to  prompt  compliance  with 
their  demands,  they  spoke  imperiously;  but  they  had 
never  seen  a  frown  like  this  upon  their  father's  face,  and 
at  his  refusal  their  voices  grew  squeaky  with  excitement 
and  uncertainty. 

"Go  to  your  rooms,  my  sweethearts,"  Don  Esteban 
directed,  finally. 

"We  want  Evangelina.  She  belongs  to  us,"  they 
chorused,  stubbornly. 

Don  Pablo  shook  with  laughter.  "  So !  She  belongs  to 
you,  eh?  And  I'm  to  be  robbed  of  my  winnings.  Very 
well,  then,  come  and  give  me  a  kiss,  both  of  you,  and 
I'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

But  the  children  saw  that  Don  Pablo's  face  was  strangely 
flushed,  that  his  eyes  were  wild  and  his  magnificent 
beard  was  wet  with  wine;  therefore  they  hung  back. 

"You  won  your  bet  fairly,"  Este"ban  growled  at  him. 
"Pay  no  heed  to  these  babies." 

"Evangelina  is  ours,"  the  little  ones  bravely  repeated. 

16 


SPANISH    GOLD 

Then  their  father  exploded:  "The  devil!  Am  I 
dreaming?  Where  have  you  learned  to  oppose  me? 
Back  to  your  beds,  both  of  you."  Seeing  them  hesitate, 
he  shouted  for  his  wife.  "Ho,  there!  Isabel,  my  love! 
Come  put  these  imps  to  rest.  Or  must  I  teach  them 
manners  with  my  palm?  A  fine  thing,  truly!  Are  they 
to  be  allowed  to  roam  the  house  at  will  and  get  a  fever?" 

Mere  mention  of  their  stepmother's  name  was  enough 
for  Rosa  and  Est6ban;  they  scuttled  away  as  fast  as  they 
could  go,  and  when  Dona  Isabel  came  to  their  rooms,  a  few 
moments  later,  she  found  them  in  their  beds,  with  their 
eyes  deceitfully  squeezed  shut.  Evangelina  was  cowering 
in  a  corner.  Isabel  had  overheard  the  wager,  and  her 
soul  was  evilly  alight;  she  jerked  the  slave  girl  to  her  feet 
and  with  a  blow  of  her  palm  sent  her  to  her  quarters. 
Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  the  twins.  When  she 
left  them  they  were  weeping  silently,  both  for  themselves 
and  for  Evangelina,  whom  they  dearly  loved. 

Meanwhile  Don  Mario  had  resumed  his  singing. 

Day  was  breaking  when  Esteban  Varona  bade  his 
guests  good-by  at  the  door  of  his  house.  As  he 
stood  there  Sebastian  came  to  him  out  of  the  mists 
of  the  dawn.  The  old  man  had  been  waiting  for 
hours.  He  was  half  crazed  from  apprehension,  and 
now  cast  himself  prone  before  his  master,  begging  for 
Evangelina. 

Don  Pablo,  in  whom  the  liquor  was  dying,  cursed  im 
patiently:  "Caramba!  Have  I  won  the  treasure  of  your 
whole  establishment?"  he  inquired.  "Perhaps  you  value 
this  wench  at  more  than  a  thousand  pesos;  if  so,  you  will 
say  that  I  cheated  you." 

"No!  She's  only  an  ordinary  girl.  My  wife  doesn't 
like  her,  and  so  I  determined  to  get  rid  of  her.  She  is 
yours,  fairly  enough,"  Varona  told  him. 

"Then  send  her  to  my  house.  I'll  breed  her  to  Salva 
dor,  my  cochero.  He's  the  strongest  man  I  have." 

17 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Sebastian  uttered  a  strangled  cry  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
' '  Master !  You  must  not — ' ' 

"Silence!"  ordered  Este*ban.  Wine  never  agreed  with 
him,  and  this  morning  its  effects,  combined  with  his  losses 
at  gambling,  had  put  him  in  a  nasty  temper.  "Go 
about  your  business.  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  any 
how?"  he  shouted. 

But  Sebastian,  dazed  of  mind  and  sick  of  soul,  went  on, 
unheeding.  "She  is  my  girl.  You  promised  me  her 
freedom.  I  warn  you — " 

"Eh?"  The  planter  swayed  forward  and  with  blazing 
eyes  surveyed  his  slave.  Este"ban  knew  that  he  had  done 
a  foul  thing  in  risking  the  girl  upon  the  turn  of  a  card, 
and  an  inner  voice  warned  him  that  he  would  repent  his 
action  when  he  became  sober,  but  in  his  present  mood  this 
very  knowledge  enraged  him  the  more.  "You  warn 
me?  Of  what?"  he  growled. 

At  this  moment  neither  master  nor  man  knew  exactly 
what  he  said  or  did.  Sebastian  raised  his  hand  on  high. 
In  reality  the  gesture  was  meant  to  call  Heaven  as  a 
witness  to  his  years  of  faithful  service,  but,  misconstruing 
his  intent,  Pablo  Peza  brought  his  riding-whip  down  across 
the  old  man's  back,  crying: 

"Ho!    None  of  that." 

A  shudder  ran  through  Sebastian's  frame.  Whirling, 
he  seized  Don  Pablo's  wrist  and  tore  the  whip  from  his 
fingers.  Although  the  Spaniard  was  a  strong  man,  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  pain. 

At  this  indignity  to  a  guest  Est^ban  flew  into  a  fury. 
"Pancho!"  he  cried.  "Ho!  Pancho!"  When  the 
manager  came  running,  Esteban  explained:  "This  fool 
is  dangerous.  He  raised  his  hand  to  me  and  to  Don 
Pablo." 

Sebastian's  protests  were  drowned  by  the  angry  voices 
of  the  others. 

"Tie  him  to  yonder  grating,"  directed  Esteban,  who 

18 


SPANISH   GOLD 

was  still  in  the  grip  of  a  senseless  rage.  "Flog  him  well 
and  make  haste  about  it." 

Sebastian,  who  had  no  time  in  which  to  recover  himself, 
made  but  a  weak  resistance  when  Pancho  Cueto  locked 
his  wrists  into  a  pair  of  clumsy,  old-fashioned  manacles, 
first  passing  the  chain  around  one  of  the  bars  of  the  iron 
window-grating  which  Este"ban  had  indicated.  Sebastian 
felt  that  his  whole  world  was  tumbling  about  his  ears. 
He  thought  he  must  be  dreaming. 

Cueto  swung  a  heavy  lash;  the  sound  of  his  blows 
echoed  through  the  quinta,  and  they  summoned,  among 
others,  Dona  Isabel,  who  watched  the  scene  from  behind 
her  shutter  with  much  satisfaction.  The  guests  looked  on 
approvingly. 

Sebastian  made  no  outcry.  The  face  he  turned  to  his 
master,  however,  was  puckered  with  reproach  and  bewil 
derment.  The  whip  bit  deep;  it  drew  blood  and  raised 
welts  the  thickness  of  one's  thumb;  nevertheless,  for  the 
first  few  moments  the  victim  suffered  less  in  body  than 
in  spirit.  His  brain  was  so  benumbed,  so  shocked  with 
other  excitations,  that  he  was  well-nigh  insensible  to 
physical  pain.  That  Evangelina,  flesh  of  his  flesh,  had 
been  sold,  that  his  lifelong  faithfulness  had  brought  such 
reward  as  this,  that  Esteban,  light  of  his  soul,  had  turned 
against  him  —  all  this  was  simply  astounding.  More 
his  simple  mind  could  not  compass  for  the  moment. 
Gradually,  however,  he  began  to  resent  the  shrieking 
injustice  of  it  all,  and  unsuspected  forces  gathered  inside 
of  him.  They  grew  until  his  frame  was  shaken  by  prim 
itive  savage  impulses. 

After  a  time  Don  Esteban  cried:  "That  will  do, 
Cueto!  Leave  him  now  for  the  flies  to  punish.  They 
will  remind  him  of  his  insolence." 

Then  the  guests  departed,  and  Esteban  staggered  into 
the  house  and  went  to  bed. 

All  that  morning  Sebastian  stood  with  his  hands  chained 

19 


RAINBOW'S    END 

high  over  his  head.  The  sun  grew  hotter  and  ever  hotter 
upon  his  lacerated  back:  the  blood  dried  and  clotted 
there;  a  cloud  of  flies  gathered,  swarming  over  the  raw 
gashes  left  by  Cueto's  whip. 

Before  leaving  for  Don  Pablo's  quinta  Evangelina  came 
to  bid  her  father  an  agonized  farewell,  and  for  a  long  time 
after  she  had  gone  the  old  man  stood  motionless,  sense 
less,  scarcely  breathing.  Nor  did  the  other  slaves  ven 
ture  to  approach  him  to  offer  sympathy  or  succor.  They 
passed  with  heads  averted  and  with  fear  in  their  hearts. 

Since  Don  Este"ban's  nerves,  or  perhaps  it  was  his  con 
science,  did  not  permit  him  to  sleep,  he  arose  about  noon 
time  and  dressed  himself.  He  was  still  drunk,  and  the 
mad  rage  of  the  early  morning  still  possessed  him ;  there 
fore,  when  he  mounted  his  horse  he  pretended  not  to  see 
the  figure  chained  to  the  window-grating.  Sebastian's 
affection  for  his  master  was  doglike  and  he  had  taken  his 
punishment  as  a  dog  takes  his,  more  in  surprise  than  in 
anger,  but  at  this  proof  of  callous  indifference  a  fire 
kindled  in  the  old  fellow's  breast,  hotter  by  far  than  the 
fever  from  his  fly-blown  scores.  He  was  thirsty,  too,  but 
that  was  the  least  of  his  sufferings. 

Sometime  during  the  afternoon  the  negro  heard  himself 
addressed  through  the  window  against  the  bars  of  which 
he  leaned.  The  speaker  was  Dona  Isabel.  She  had 
waited  patiently  until  she  knew  he  must  be  faint  from 
exhaustion  and  then  she  had  let  herself  into  the  room 
behind  the  grating,  whence  she  could  talk  to  him  without 
fear  of  observation. 

"Do  you  suffer,  Sebastian?"  she  began  in  a  tone  of 
gentleness  and  pity. 

"Yes,  mistress."  The  speaker's  tongue  was  thick  and 
swollen. 

"La!  La!  What  a  crime!  And  you  the  most  faithful 
slave  in  all  Cuba!" 

"Yes,  mistress." 

20 


SPANISH   GOLD 

"Can  I  help  you?" 

The  negro  raised  his  head;  he  shook  his  body  to  rid 
himself  of  the  insects  which  were  devouring  him. 

"Give  me  a  drink  of  water,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"  Surely,  a  great  gourdful,  all  cool  and  dripping  from  the 
well.  But  first  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something.  Come 
now,  let  us  have  an  understanding  with  each  other." 

"A  drink,  for  the  love  of  Christ,"  panted  the  old  man, 
and  Dona  Isabel  saw  how  cracked  and  dry  were  his 
thick  lips,  how  near  the  torture  had  come  to  prostrating 
him. 

"I'll  do  more,"  she  promised,  and  her  voice  was  like 
honey.  "I'll  tell  Pancho  Cueto  to  unlock  you,  even  if 
I  risk  Este'ban's  anger  by  so  doing.  You  have  suffered 
too  much,  my  good  fellow.  Indeed  you  have.  Well,  I 
can  help  you  now  and  in  the  future,  or — I  can  make  your 
life  just  such  a  misery  as  it  has  been  to-day.  Will  you 
be  my  friend?  Will  you  tell  me  something?"  She  was 
close  to  the  window;  her  black  eyes  were  gleaming;  her 
face  was  ablaze  with  greed. 

"What  can  I  tell  you?" 

"Oh,  you  know  very  well!  I've  asked  it  often  enough, 
but  you  have  lied,  just  as  my  husband  has  lied  to  me. 
He  is  a  miser;  he  has  no  heart;  he  cares  for  nobody,  as 
you  can  see.  You  must  hate  him  now,  even  as  I  hate 
him."  There  was  a  silence  during  which  Dona  Isabel 
tried  to  read  the  expression  on  that  tortured  face  in  the 
sunlight.  ' '  Do  you  ?' ' 

"Perhaps." 

"Then  tell  me — is  there  really  a  treasure,  or — ?" 
The  woman  gasped;  she  choked;  she  could  scarcely 
force  the  question  for  fear  of  disappointment.  "Tell  me 
there  is,  Sebastian."  She  clutched  the  bars  and  shook 
them.  "I've  heard  so  many  lies  that  I  begin  to  doubt." 

The  old  man  nodded.  "Oh  yes,  there  is  a  treasure," 
said  he. 

21 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"  God !  You  have  seen  it  ?"  Isabel  was  trembling  as  if 
with  an  ague.  "What  is  it  like?  How  much  is  there? 
Good  Sebastian,  I'll  give  you  water;  I'll  have  you  set 
free  if  you  tell  me." 

"How  much?  I  don't  know.  But  there  is  much — 
pieces  of  Spanish  gold,  silver  coins  in  casks  and  in  little 
boxes — the  boxes  are  bound  with  iron  and  have  hasps 
and  staples;  bars  of  precious  metal  and  little  paper  pack 
ages  of  gems,  all  tied  up  and  hidden  in  leather  bags. ' '  Sebas 
tian  could  hear  his  listener  panting;  her  bloodless  fin 
gers  were  wrapped  tightly  around  the  bars  above  his  head. 

"Yes!    Goon." 

"There  are  ornaments,  too.  God  knows  they  must 
have  come  from  heaven,  they  are  so  beautiful;  and 
pearls  from  the  Caribbean  as  large  as  plums." 

"Are  you  speaking  the  truth?" 

"Every  peso,  every  bar,  every  knickknack  I  have 
handled  with  my  own  hands.  Did  I  not  make  the  hiding- 
place  all  alone?  Senora,  everything  is  there  just  as  I  tell 
you — and  more.  The  grants  of  title  from  the  crown  for 
this  quinta  and  the  sugar-plantations,  they  are  there,  too. 
Don  Este"ban  used  to  fear  the  government  officials,  so  he 
hid  his  papers  securely.  Without  them  the  lands  belong  to 
no  one.  You  understand  ?" 

"Of  course!  Yes,  yes!  But  the  jewels —  God!  where 
are  they  hidden?" 

"You  would  never  guess!"  Sebastian's  voice  gathered 
strength.  "Ten  thousand  men  in  ten  thousand  years 
would  never  find  the  place,  and  nobody  knows  the  secret 
but  Don  Este"ban  and  me." 

' '  I  believe  you.  I  knew  all  the  time  it  was  here.  Well  ? 
Where  is  it?" 

Sebastian  hesitated  and  said,  piteously,  "I  am  dying — " 

Isabel  could  scarcely  contain  herself.  "I'll  give  you 
water,  but  first  tell  me  where — where!  God  in  heaven! 
Can't  you  see  that  I,  too,  am  perishing?" 

22 


SPANISH   GOLD 

"  I  must  have  a  drink." 

"Tell  me  first." 

Sebastian  lifted  his  head  and,  meeting  the  speaker's 
eyes,  laughed  hoarsely. 

At  the  sound  of  his  unnatural  merriment  Isabel  re 
coiled  as  if  stung.  She  stared  at  the  slave's  face  in 
amazement  and  then  in  fury.  She  stammered,  in 
coherently,  "You — you  have  been — lying!" 

"Oh  no!  The  treasure  is  there,  the  greatest  treasure 
in  all  Cuba,  but  you  shall  never  know  where  it  is.  I'll 
see  to  that.  It  was  you  who  sold  my  girl;  it  was  you 
who  brought  me  to  this;  it  was  your  hand  that  whipped 
me.  Well,  I'll  tell  Don  Este"ban  how  you  tried  to  bribe 
his  secret  from  me!  What  do  you  think  he'll  do  then? 
Eh?  You'll  feel  the  lash  on  your  white  back — " 

"You  fool!"  Dona  Isabel  looked  murder.  "I'll  pun 
ish  you  for  this;  I'll  make  you  speak  if  I  have  to  rub 
your  wounds  with  salt." 

But  Sebastian  closed  his  eyes  wearily.  "You  can't 
make  me  suffer  more  than  I  have  suffered,"  he  said. 
"And  now — I  curse  you.  May  that  treasure  be  the  death 
of  you.  May  you  live  in  torture  like  mine  the  rest  of 
your  days;  may  your  beauty  turn  to  ugliness  such  that 
men  will  spit  at  you;  may  you  never  know  peace  again 
until  you  die  in  poverty  and  want — " 

But  Dona  Isabel,  being  superstitious,  fled  with  her 
fingers  in  her  ears;  nor  did  she  undertake  to  make  good 
her  barbarous  threat,  realizing  opportunely  that  it  would 
only  serve  to  betray  her  desperate  intentions  and  put  her 
husband  further  on  his  guard.  Instead  she  shut  herself 
into  her  room,  where  she  paced  the  floor,  racking  her  brain 
to  guess  where  the  hiding-place  could  be  or  to  devise 
some  means  of  silencing  Sebastian's  tongue.  To  feel 
that  she  had  been  overmatched,  to  know  that  there  was 
indeed  a  treasure,  to  think  that  the  two  who  knew  where 
it  was  had  been  laughing  at  her  all  this  time,  filled  the 

23 


RAINBOW'S    END 

woman  with  an  agony  approaching  that  which  Sebastian 
suffered  from  his  flies. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  beyond  the  farther  rim  of  the 
Yumuri  and  the  valley  was  beginning  to  fill  with  shadows 
Este"ban  Varona  rode  up  the  hill.  His  temper  was  more 
evil  than  ever,  if  that  were  possible,  for  he  had  drunk 
again  in  an  effort  to  drown  the  memory  of  his  earlier 
actions.  With  him  rode  half  a  dozen  or  more  of  his 
friends,  coming  to  dine  and  put  in  another  night  at  his 
expense.  There  were  Pablo  Peza,  and  Mario  de  Castano, 
once  more;  Col.  Mendoza  y  Linares,  old  Pedro  Miron, 
the  advocate,  and  others  of  less  consequence,  whom 
Esteban  had  gathered  from  the  Spanish  Club.  The  host 
dismounted  and  lurched  across  the  courtyard  to  Sebastian. 

"So, ,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  began.  "Have  you  had 
enough  of  rebellion  by  this  time?" 

"Why  did  you  have  him  flogged?"  the  advocate  in 
quired. 

Esteban  explained,  briefly,  "He  dared  to  raise  his  hand 
in  anger  against  one  of  my  guests." 

Sebastian's  face  was  working  as  he  turned  upon  his 
master  to  say:  "  I  would  be  lying  if  I  told  you  that  I  am 
sorry  for  what  I  did.  It  is  you  have  done  wrong.  Your 
soul  is  black  with  this  crime.  Where  is  my  girl?" 

"The  devil!  To  hear  you  talk  one  would  think  you 
were  a  free  man."  The  planter's  eyes  were  bleared  and 
he  brandished  his  riding-whip  threateningly.  "I  do  as 
I  please  with  my  slaves.  I  tolerate  no  insolence.  Your 
girl?  Well,  she's  in  the  house  of  Salvador,  Don  Pablo's 
cochero,  where  she  belongs.  I've  warned  him  that  he  will 
have  to  tame  her  unruly  spirit,  as  I  have  tamed  yours." 

Sebastian  had  hung  sick  and  limp  against  the  grating, 
but  at  these  words  he  suddenly  roused.  It  was  as  if  a 
current  of  electricity  had  galvanized  him.  He  strained 
at  his  manacles  and  the  bars  groaned  under  his  weight. 
His  eyes  began  to  roll,  his  lips  drew  back  over  his  blue 

24 


SPANISH    GOLD 

gums.  Noting  his  expression  of  ferocity,  Este"ban  cut 
at  his  naked  back  with  the  riding-whip,  crying: 

"Ho!  Not  subdued  yet,  eh?  You  need  another 
flogging." 

"Curse  you  and  all  that  is  yours,"  roared  the  mad 
dened  slave.  "May  you  know  the  misery  you  have  put 
upon  me.  May  you  rot  for  a  million  years  in  hell." 
The  whip  was  rising  and  falling  now,  for  Este"ban  had  lost 
what  little  self-control  the  liquor  had  left  to  him.  "  May 
your  children's  bodies  grow  filthy  with  disease;  may 
they  starve;  may  they — " 

Sebastian  was  yelling,  though  his  voice  was  hoarse  with 
pain.  The  lash  drew  blood  with  every  blow.  Meanwhile, 
he  wrenched  and  tugged  at  his  bonds  with  the  fury  of  a 
maniac. 

"Pablo!  Your  machete,  quick!"  panted  the  slave 
owner.  "God's  blood!  I'll  make  an  end  of  this  black 
fiend,  once  for  all." 

Este"ban  Varona's  guests  had  looked  on  at  the  scene 
with  the  same  mild  interest  they  would  display  at  the 
whipping  of  a  balky  horse:  and,  now  that  the  animal 
threatened  to  become  dangerous,  it  was  in  their  view 
quite  the  proper  thing  to  put  it  out  of  the  way.  Don 
Pablo  Peza  stepped  toward  his  mare  to  draw  the  machete 
from  its  scabbard.  But  he  did  not  hand  it  to  his  friend. 
He  heard  a  shout,  and  turned  in  time  to  see  a  wonderful 
and  a  terrible  thing. 

Sebastian  had  braced  his  naked  feet  against  the  wall; 
he  had  bowed  his  back  and  bent  his  massive  shoulders — 
a  back  and  a  pair  of  shoulders  that  looked  as  bony  and 
muscular  as  those  of  an  ox — and  he  was  heaving  with 
every  ounce  of  strength  in  his  enormous  body.  As 
Pablo  stared  he  saw  the  heavy  grating  come  away  from 
its  anchorage  in  the  solid  masonry,  as  a  shrub  is  uprooted 
from  soft  ground.  The  rods  bent  and  twisted;  there  was 
a  clank  and  rattle  and  clash  of  metal  upon  the  flags; 
3  25 


RAINBOW'S    END 

and  then — Sebastian  turned  upon  his  tormentor,  a  free 
man,  save  only  for  the  wide  iron  bracelets  and  their  con 
necting  chain.  He  was  quite  insane.  His  face  was 
frightful  to  behold;  it  was  apelike  in  its  animal  rage,  and 
he  towered  above  his  master  like  some  fabled  creature 
out  of  the  African  jungle  of  his  forefathers. 

Sebastian's  fists  alone  would  have  been  formidable 
weapons,  but  they  were  armored  and  weighted  with  the 
old-fashioned,  hand-wrought  irons  which  Pancho  Cueto 
had  locked  upon  them.  Wrapping  the  chain  in  his  fingers, 
the  slave  leaped  at  Este*ban  and  struck,  once.  The  sound 
of  the  blow  was  sickening,  for  the  whole  bony  structure  of 
Esteban  Varona's  head  gave  way. 

There  was  a  horrified  cry  from  the  other  white  men. 
Don  Pablo  Peza  ran  forward,  shouting.  He  swung  his 
machete,  but  Sebastian  met  him  before  the  blow  could 
descend,  and  they  went  down  together  upon  the  hard 
stones.  Again  Sebastian  smote,  with  his  massive  hands 
wrapped  in  the  chain  and  his  wrists  encased  in  steel,  and 
this  time  it  was  as  if  Don  Pablo's  head  had  been  caught 
between  a  hammer  and  an  anvil.  The  negro's  strength, 
exceptional  at  all  times,  was  multiplied  tenfold;  he  had 
run  amuck.  When  he  arose  the  machete  was  in  his  grasp 
and  Don  Pablo's  brains  were  on  his  knuckles. 

It  all  happened  in  far  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell. 
The  onlookers  had  not  yet  recovered  from  their  first 
consternation;  in  fact  they  were  still  fumbling  and  tugging 
at  whatever  weapons  they  carried  when  Sebastian  came 
toward  them,  brandishing  the  blade  on  high.  Pedro 
Miron,  the  advocate,  was  the  third  to  fall.  He  tried  to 
scramble  out  of  the  negro's  path,  but,  being  an  old  man, 
his  limbs  were  too  stiff  to  serve  him  and  he  went  down 
shrieking. 

By  now  the  horses  had  caught  the  scent  of  hot  blood 
and  were  plunging  furiously,  the  clatter  of  their  hoofs 
mingling  with  the  blasphemies  of  the  riders,  while  Se- 

26 


SPANISH    GOLD 

bastian's  bestial  roaring  made  the  commotion  even  more 
hideous. 

Este"ban's  guests  fought  as  much  for  their  lives  as  for 
vengeance  upon  the  slayer,  for  Sebastian  was  like  a 
gorilla;  he  seemed  intent  upon  killing  them  all.  He 
vented  his  fury  upon  whatever  came  within  his  reach; 
he  struck  at  men  and  animals  alike,  and  the  shrieks  of 
wounded  horses  added  to  the  din. 

It  was  a  frightful  combat.  It  seemed  incredible  that 
one  man  could  work  such  dreadful  havoc  in  so  short  a 
time.  Varona  and  two  of  his  friends  were  dead;  two 
more  were  badly  wounded,  and  a  Peruvian  stallion  lay 
kicking  on  the  flagging  when  Col.  Mendoza  y  Linares 
finally  managed  to  get  a  bullet  home  in  the  black  man's 
brain. 

Those  who  came  running  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  hub 
bub  turned  away  sick  and  pallid,  for  the  paved  yard  was 
a  shambles.  Pancho  Cueto  called  upon  the  slaves  to  help 
him,  but  they  slunk  back  to  their  quarters,  dumb  with 
terror  and  dismay. 

All  that  night  people  from  the  town  below  came  and 
went  and  the  quinta  resounded  to  sobs  and  lamentations, 
but  of  all  the  relatives  of  the  dead  and  wounded,  Dona 
Isabel  took  her  bereavement  hardest.  Strange  to  say, 
she  could  not  be  comforted.  She  wept,  she  screamed, 
she  tore  her  hair,  tasting  the  full  nauseousness  of  the 
cup  her  own  avarice  had  prepared.  Now,  when  it  was 
too  late,  she  realized  that  she  had  overreached  herself, 
having  caused  the  death  of  the  only  two  who  knew  the 
secret  of  the  treasure.  She  remembered,  also,  Sebastian's 
statement  that  even  the  deeds  of  patent  for  the  land  were 
hidden  with  the  rest,  where  ten  thousand  men  in  ten 
thousand  years  could  never  fimd  them. 

Impressed  by  her  manifestations  of  grief,  Este"ban's 
friends  reasoned  that  the  widow  must  have  loved  her  hus 
band  dearly.  They  told  one  another  they  had  wronged  her. 

27 


Ill 

"THE  O'REILLY" 

AGE  and  easy  living  had  caused  Don  Mario  de  Castano, 
the  sugar  merchant,  to  take  on  weight.  He  had,  in 
truth,  become  so  fat  that  he  waddled  like  a  penguin  when 
he  walked;  and  when  he  rode,  the  springs  of  his  French 
victoria  gave  up  in  despair.  They  glued  themselves  to 
gether,  face  to  face,  and  Don  Mario  felt  every  rut  and 
every  rock  in  the  road.  Nor  was  the  merchant  any  less 
heavy  in  mind  than  in  body,  for  he  was  both  very  rich 
and  very  serious,  and  nothing  is  more  ponderous  than  a 
rich,  fat  man  who  takes  his  riches  and  his  fatness  seriously. 
In  disposition  Don  Mario  was  practical  and  unromantic ; 
he  boasted  that  he  had  never  had  an  illusion,  never  an 
interest  outside  of  his  business.  And  yet,  on  the  day 
this  story  opens,  this  prosaic  personage,  in  spite  of  his 
bulging  waistband  and  his  taut  neckband,  in  spite  of  his 
short  breath  and  his  prickly  heat,  was  in  a  very  whirl 
of  pleasurable  excitement.  Don  Mario,  in  fact,  suffered 
the  greatest  of  all  illusions:  he  was  in  love,  and  he  be 
lieved  himself  beloved.  The  object  of  his  adoration  was 
little  Rosa  Varona,  the  daughter  of  his  one-time  friend 
Esteban.  At  thought  of  her  the  planter  glowed  with 
ardor — at  any  rate  he  took  it  to  be  ardor,  although  it 
might  have  been  the  fever  from  that  summer  rash  which 
so  afflicted  him — and  his  heart  fluttered  in  a  way  dangerous 
to  one  of  his  apoplectic  tendencies.  To  be  sure,  he  had 
met  Rosa  only  twice  since  her  return  from  her  Yankee 

28 


'THE    O'REILLY' 

school,  but  twice  had  been  enough;  with  prompt  decision 
he  had  resolved  to  do  her  the  honor  of  making  her  his  wife. 

Now,  with  a  person  of  Don  Mario's  importance,  to  de 
cide  for  himself  is  to  decide  for  others,  and  inasmuch  as  he 
knew  that  Dona  Isabel,  Rosa's  stepmother,  was  notori 
ously  mercenary  and  had  not  done  at  all  well  since  her 
husband's  death,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  doubt  that 
his  suit  would  prosper.  It  was,  in  fact,  to  make  terms 
with  her  that  he  rode  forth  in  the  heat  of  this  particular 
afternoon. 

Notwithstanding  the  rivulets  of  perspiration  that  were 
coursing  down  every  fold  of  his  flesh,  and  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  the  body  of  his  victoria  was  tipped  at  a 
drunken  angle,  as  if  struggling  to  escape  the  burdens  of 
his  great  weight,  Don  Mario  felt  a  jauntiness  of  body  and 
of  spirit  almost  like  that  of  youth.  He  saw  himself  as  a 
splendid  prince  riding  toward  the  humble  home  of  some 
obscure  maiden  whom  he  had  graciously  chosen  to  be  his 
mate. 

His  arrival  threw  Dona  Isabel  into  a  flutter;  the  woman 
could  scarcely  contain  her  curiosity  when  she  came  to 
meet  him,  for  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  inconvenience 
himself  by  mere  social  visits.  Their  first  formal  greetings 
over,  Don  Mario  surveyed  the  bare  living-room  and  re 
marked,  lugubriously: 

"  I  see  many  changes  here." 

"No  doubt,"  the  widow  agreed.  "Times  have  been 
hard  since  poor  Este"ban's  death." 

"What  a  terrible  calamity  that  was!  I  shudder  when 
I  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "I  was  his  guest  on  the  night 
previous,  you  remember?  In  fact,  I  witnessed  his  wager 
of  the  negro  girl,  Evangelina — the  root  of  the  whole 
tragedy.  Well,  well!  Who  would  have  believed  that  old 
slave,  her  father,  would  have  run  mad  at  losing  her? 
A  shocking  affair,  truly !  and  one  I  shall  never  get  out  of 
my  mind." 

29 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Shocking,  yes.  But  what  do  you  think  of  a  rich  man, 
like  Este"ban,  who  would  leave  his  family  destitute? 
Who  would  die  without  revealing  the  place  where  he  had 
stored  his  treasure?" 

Dona  Isabel,  it  was  plain,  felt  her  wrongs  keenly;  she 
spoke  with  as  much  spirit  as  if  her  husband  had  per 
mitted  himself  to  be  killed  purely  out  of  spite  toward  her. 

De  Castano  shook  his  round  bullet  head,  saying  with 
some  impatience:  "You  still  believe  in  that  treasure,  eh? 
My  dear  sefiora,  the  only  treasure  Varona  left  was  his 
adorable  children — and  your  admirable  self."  Immedi 
ately  the  speaker  regretted  his  words,  for  he  remembered, 
too  late,  that  Dona  Isabel  was  reputed  to  be  a  trifle  un 
balanced  on  this  subject  of  the  Varona  treasure. 

"I  do  not  believe;  /  know!"  the  widow  answered,  with 
more  than  necessary  vehemence.  "What  became  of  all 
Este"ban's  money  if  he  did  not  bury  it?  He  never  gave 
any  to  me,  for  he  was  a  miser.  You  know,  as  well  as  I, 
that  he  carried  on  a  stupendous  business  in  slaves  and 
sugar,  and  it  was  common  knowledge  that  he  hid  every 
peso  for  fear  of  his  enemies.  But  where?  Where?  That 
is  the  question." 

"You,  if  any  one,  should  know,  after  all  the  years  you 
have  spent  in  hunting  for  it,"  the  merchant  observed. 
"Dios  mio!  Almost  before  Este*ban  was  buried  you 
began  the  search.  People  said  you  were  going  to  tear 
this  house  down." 

"Well,  I  never  found  a  trace.  I  had  holes  dug  in  the 
gardens,  too." 

"You  see?  No,  sefiora,  it  is  possible  to  hide  anything 
except  money.  No  man  can  conceal  that  where  another 
will  not  find  it." 

Isabel's  face  had  grown  hard  and  avaricious,  even  dur 
ing  this  brief  talk;  her  eyes  were  glowing;  plainly  she  was 
as  far  as  ever  from  giving  up  her  long-cherished  conviction. 

"I  don't  ask  anybody  to  believe  the  story,"  she  said, 

30 


'THE   O'REILLY' 

resentfully.  "All  the  same,  it  is  true.  There  are  pieces 
of  Spanish  gold  and  silver  coins,  in  boxes  bound  with  iron 
and  fitted  with  hasps  and  staples;  packages  of  gems; 
pearls  from  the  Caribbean  as  large  as  plums.  Oh! 
Sebastian  told  me  all  about  it." 

vOf  course,  of  course!  I  shall  not  argue  the  matter." 
Don  Mario  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  wave  of  his 
plump  hand.  "Now,  Dona  Isabel — " 

"As  if  it  were  not  enough  to  lose  that  treasure,"  the 
widow  continued,  stormily,  "the  Government  must  free 
all  our  slaves.  Tse!  Tse!  And  now  that  there  is  no 
longer  a  profit  in  sugar,  my  plantations — " 

"No  profit  in  sugar?  What  are  you  saying?"  queried 
the  caller. 

"Oh,  you  have  a  way  of  prospering!  What  touches 
your  fingers  turns  to  gold.  But  you  are  not  at  the  mercy 
of  an  administrador." 

"Precisely!  I  am  my  own  manager.  If  your  crops  do 
not  pay,  then  Pancho  Cueto  is  cheating  you.  He  is 
capable  of  it.  Get  rid  of  him.  But  I  didn't  come  here  to 
talk  about  Este"ban's  hidden  treasure,  nor  his  plantations, 
nor  Pancho  Cueto.  I  came  here  to  talk  about  your  step 
daughter,  Rosa." 

"So?"     Dona  Isabel  looked  up  quickly. 

"She  interests  me.  She  is  more  beautiful  than  the 
stars."  Don  Mario  rolled  his  eyes  toward  the  high  ceil 
ing,  which,  like  the  sky,  was  tinted  a  vivid  cerulean  blue. 
"She  personifies  every  virtue;  she  is — delectable."  He 
pursed  his  wet  lips,  daintily  picked  a  kiss  from  between 
them  with  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  snapped  it  into  the 
air. 

Inasmuch  as  Isabel  had  always  hated  the  girl  venom 
ously,  she  did  not  trust  herself  to  comment  upon  her 
caller's  enthusiasm. 

"She  is  now  eighteen,"  the  fat  suitor  went  on,  ecstatic 
ally,  "and  so  altogether  charming —  But  why  waste 


RAINBOW'S    END 

time  in  pretty  speeches?  I  have  decided  to  marry 
her." 

De  Castano  plucked  a  heavily  scented  silk  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket  and  wiped  a  beading  of  moisture  from  his 
brow  and  upper  lip.  He  had  a  habit  of  perspiring  when 
roused  from  his  usual  lethargy. 

"Rosa  has  a  will  of  her  own,"  guardedly  ventured  the 
stepmother. 

Don  Mario  broke  out,  testily:  "Naturally;  so  have  we 
all.  Now  let  us  speak  plainly.  You  know  me.  I  am  a 
person  of  importance.  I  am  rich  enough  to  afford  what  I 
want,  and  I  pay  well.  You  understand  ?  Well,  then,  you 
are  Rosa's  guardian  and  you  can  bend  her  to  your  de 
sires." 

"If  that  were  only  so!"  exclaimed  the  woman.  "She 
and  Este"ban — what  children!  What  tempers! — Just  like 
their  father's!  They  have  never  liked  me;  they  disobey 
me  at  every  opportunity;  they  exercise  the  most  dia 
bolical  ingenuity  in  making  my  life  miserable.  They  were 
to  be  their  father's  heirs,  you  know,  and  they  blame  me 
for  his  death,  for  our  poverty,  and  for  all  the  other  misfor 
tunes  that  have  overtaken  us.  We  live  like  cats  and  dogs." 

Don  Mario  had  been  drumming  his  fat  fingers  impa 
tiently  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Now  he  exclaimed: 

"Your  pardon,  senora,  but  I  am  just  now  very  little 
interested  in  your  domestic  relations;  they  do  not  thrill 
me — as  my  own  prospective  happiness  does.  What  you 
say  about  Rosa  only  makes  me  more  eager,  for  I  loathe 
a  sleepy  woman.  Now  tell  me,  is  she —  Has  she  any — 
affairs  of  the  heart?" 

"N-no,  unless  perhaps  a  flirtation  with  that  young 
American,  Juan  O'Reilly."  Dona  Isabel  gave  the  name 
its  Spanish  pronunciation  of  "O'Rail-ye." 

"Juan  O'Reilly?  O'Reilly?  Oh  yes!  But  what  has 
he  to  offer  a  woman?  He  is  little  more  than  a  clerk." 

"That  is  what  I  tell  her.  Oh,  it  hasn't  gone  far  as  yet." 

32 


'THE   O'REILLY' 

"Good!"  Don  Mario  rose  to  leave,  for  the  exertion  of 
his  ride  had  made  him  thirsty.  "You  may  name  your 
own  reward  for  helping  me  and  I  will  pay  it  the  day  Rosa 
marries  me.  Now  kindly  advise  her  of  my  intentions  and 
tell  her  I  shall  come  to  see  her  soon." 

It  was  quite  true  that  Johnnie  O'Reilly — or  "The 
O'Reilly,"  as  his  friends  called  him — had  little  in  the  way 
of  worldly  advantage  to  offer  any  girl,  and  it  wasf  pre 
cisely  because  of  this  fact  that  he  had  accepted  a  position 
here  in  Cuba,  where,  from  the  very  nature  of  things,  pro 
motion  was  likely  to  be  more  rapid  than  in  the  New  York 
office  of  his  firm.  He  had  come  to  this  out-of-the-way 
place  prepared  to  live  the  lonely  life  of  an  exile,  if  an 
O'Reilly  could  be  lonely  anywhere,  and  for  a  brief  time 
he  had  been  glum  enough. 

But  the  O'Reillys,  from  time  immemorial,  had  been 
born  and  bred  to  exile ;  it  was  their  breath,  their  meat  and 
drink,  and  this  particular  member  of  the  clan  thrived 
upon  it  quite  as  well  as  had  the  other  Johnnies  and 
Michaels  and  Andys  who  had  journeyed  to  far  shores. 
The  O'Reillys  were  audacious  men,  a  bit  too  heedless 
of  their  own  good,  perhaps ;  a  bit  too  light-hearted  readily 
to  impress  a  grave  world  with  their  varied  abilities,  but 
sterling  men,  for  all  that,  ambitious  men,  men  with  lime 
in  their  bones  and  possessed  of  a  high  and  ready  chivalry 
that  made  friends  for  them  wherever  their  wandering 
feet  strayed.  Spain,  France,  and  the  two  Americas  had 
welcomed  O'Reillys  of  one  sort  or  another;  even  Cuba 
had  the  family  name  written  large  upon  her  scroll.  So 
Johnnie,  of  New  York  and  Matanzas,  although  at  first 
he  felt  himself  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  was  not  so 
considered  by  the  Cubans. 

A  dancing  eye  speaks  every  language;  a  singing  heart 
gathers  its  own  audience.  Before  the  young  Irish- 
American  had  more  than  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  the 

33 


RAINBOW'S    END 

commonest  Spanish  verbs  he  had  a  calling  acquaintance 
with  some  of  the  most  exclusive  people  of  Matanzas. 
He  puzzled  them,  to  be  sure,  for  they  could  not  fathom 
the  reason  for  his  ever-bubbling  gladness,  but  they  strove 
to  catch  its  secret,  and,  striving,  they  made  friends  with 
him.  O'Reilly  did  not  puzzle  their  daughters  nearly  so 
much:  more  than  one  aristocratic  senorita  felt  sure  that 
she  quite  understood  the  tall,  blond  stranger  with  the 
laughing  eyes,  or  could  understand  him  if  he  gave  her 
half  a  chance,  and  so,  as  had  been  the  case  with  other 
O'Reillys  in  other  lands,  Johnnie's  exile  became  no  exile 
at  all.  He  had  adjusted  himself  serenely  to  his  surround 
ings  when  Rosa  Varona  returned  from  school,  but  with 
her  coming,  away  went  all  his  complacency.  His  con 
tentment  vanished;  he  experienced  a  total  change  in  his 
opinions,  his  hopes,  and  his  ambitions. 

He  discovered,  for  example,  that  Matanzas  was  by  no 
means  the  out-of-the-way  place  he  had  considered  it; 
on  the  contrary,  after  meeting  Rosa  once  by  accident, 
twice  by  design,  and  three  times  by  mutual  arrangement, 
it  had  dawned  upon  him  that  this  was  the  chief  city  of 
Cuba,  if  not,  perhaps,  the  hub  around  which  the  whole 
world  revolved;  certainly  it  was  the  most  agreeable  of 
all  cities,  since  it  contained  everything  that  was  neces 
sary  for  man's  happiness.  Yet,  despite  the  thrill  of  his 
awakening,  O'Reilly  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  himself, 
for,  as  it  happened,  there  was  another  girl  back  home, 
and  during  his  first  year  of  loneliness  he  had  written  to  her 
more  freely  and  more  frequently  than  any  man  on  such  a 
salary  as  his  had  a  right  to  do. 

O'Reilly  laid  no  claims  to  literary  gifts;  nevertheless,  it 
seemed  to  him,  as  he  looked  back  upon  it,  that  his  pen 
must  have  been  dipped  in  magic  and  in  moonlight,  for  the 
girl  had  expressed  an  eager  willingness  to  share  his  inter 
esting  economic  problems,  and  in  fact  was  waiting  for  him 
to  give  her  the  legal  right.  Inasmuch  as  her  father  was 

34 


'THE   O'REILLY' 

O'Reilly's  "Company"  it  may  be  seen  that  Rosa  Varona's 
home-coming  seriously  complicated  matters,  not  only  from 
a  sentimental,  but  from  a  business  standpoint. 

It  was  in  a  thoughtful  mood  that  he  rode  up  La  Cumbre 
toward  the  Quinta  de  Esttban,  late  on  the  afternoon  of 
Don  Mario's  visit.  Instead  of  going  directly  to  the 
house  as  the  merchant  had  done,  O'Reilly  turned  off  from 
the  road  and,  after  tethering  his  horse  in  a  cluster  of  guava- 
bushes,  proceeded  on  foot.  He  did  not  like  Dona  Isabel, 
nor  did  Dona  Isabel  like  him.  Moreover,  he  had  a 
particular  reason  for  avoiding  her  to-day. 

Just  inside  the  Varona  premises  he  paused  an  instant  to 
admire  the  outlook.  The  quinta  commanded  an  excel 
lent  view  of  the  Yumuri,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  town 
and  harbor  on  the  other;  no  one  ever  climbed  the  hill 
from  the  city  to  gaze  over  into  that  hidden  valley  without 
feeling  a  pleasurable  surprise  at  finding  it  still  there.  We 
are  accustomed  to  think  of  perfect  beauty  as  unsub 
stantial,  evanescent ;  but  the  Yumuri  never  changed,  and 
in  that  lay  its  supremest  wonder. 

Through  what  had  once  been  well-tended  grounds, 
O'Reilly  made  his  way  to  a  sort  of  sunken  garden  which, 
in  spite  of  neglect,  still  remained  the  most  charming  nook 
upon  the  place;  and  there  he  sat  down  to  wait  for  Rosa. 
The  hollow  was  effectually  screened  from  view  by  a  growth 
of  plantain,  palm,  orange,  and  tamarind  trees;  over  the 
rocky  walls  ran  a  profusion  of  flowering  plants  and  vines; 
in  the  center  of  the  open  space  was  an  old  well,  its  ma 
sonry  curb  all  but  crumbled  away. 

When  Rosa  at  last  appeared,  O'Reilly  felt  called 
upon  to  tell  her,  somewhat  dizzily,  that  she  was  beyond 
doubt  the  sweetest  flower  on  all  the  Quinta  dc  Esteban, 
and  since  this  somewhat  hackneyed  remark  was  the 
boldest  speech  he  had  ever  made  to  her,  she  blushed 
prettily,  flashing  him  a  dimpled  smile  of  mingled  pleasure 
and  surprise. 

35 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"  Oh,  but  I  assure  you  I'm  in  no  sweet  temper,"  said  she. 
"Just  now  I'm  tremendously  angry." 

"Why?" 

"It's  that  stepmother — Isabel." 

"So!  You've  been  quarreling  again,  eh?  Well,  she's 
the  easiest  woman  in  all  Matanzas  to  quarrel  with — 
perhaps  the  only  one  who  doesn't  see  something  good  in 
me.  I'm  afraid  to  talk  to  her  for  fear  she'd  convince  me 
I'm  wholly  abominable." 

Rosa  laughed,  showing  her  fine,  regular  teeth — O'Reilly 
thought  he  had  never  seen  teeth  so  even  and  white. 
"Yes,  she  is  a  difficult  person.  If  she  dreamed  that  I 
see  you  as  often  as  I  do —  Well — "  Rosa  lifted  her 
eloquent  hands  and  eyes  heavenward.  "I  suppose  that's 
why  I  enjoy  doing  it — I  so  dearly  love  to  spite  her." 

"I  see!"  O'Reilly  puckered  his  brows  and  nodded. 
"But  why,  in  that  case,  haven't  you  seen  me  oftener? 
We  might  just  as  well  have  made  the  good  lady's  life 
totally  unbearable." 

"Silly!  She  knows  nothing  about  it."  With  a  flirta 
tious  sigh  Rosa  added:  "That's  what  robs  the  affair  of  its 
chief  pleasure.  Since  it  does  not  bother  her  in  the  least, 
I  think  I  will  not  allow  you  to  come  any  more." 

After  judicious  consideration,  O'Reilly  pretended  to 
agree. 

"There's  no  fun  in  wreaking  a  horrible  revenge,  when 
your  enemy  isn't  wise  to  it,"  he  acknowledged.  "Since 
it's  your  idea  to  irritate  your  stepmother,  perhaps  it  would 
annoy  her  more  if  I  made  love  directly  to  her." 

Rosa  tittered,  and  then  inquired,  naively,  "Can  you 
make  love,  senor?" 

"Can  I?  It's  the  one  ability  an  O'Reilly  inherits. 
Listen  to  this  now."  Reaching  forth,  he  took  Rosa's 
fingers  in  his.  "Wait!"  he  cried  as  she  resisted.  "Pre 
tend  that  you're  Mrs.  Varona,  your  own  stepmother,  and 
that  this  is  her  dimpled  hand  I'm  holding." 

36 


'THE    O'REILLY' 

"Oh-h!"  The  girl  allowed  his  grasp  to  remain.  "But 
Isabel's  hand  isn't  dimpled:  it's  thin  and  bony.  I've  felt 
it  on  my  ears  often  enough." 

"Don't  interrupt,"  he  told  her.  "Isabel,  my  little 
darling — " 

" '  Little' !  La!  La!  She's  as  tall  and  ugly  as  a  chimney." 

"  Hush !  I've  held  my  tongue  as  long  as  I  can,  but  now 
it's  running  away  of  its  own  accord,  and  I  must  tell  you 
how  mad  I  am  about  you.  The  first  time  I  saw  you — 
it  was  at  the  ball  in  the  Spanish  Club — "  Again  Rosa 
drew  away  sharply,  at  which  O'Reilly  laid  his  other  hand 
over  the  one  in  his  palm,  saying,  quickly:  "You  and  your 
stepdaughter,  Rosa.  Do  you  remember  that  first  waltz 
of  ours  ?  Sure,  I  thought  I  was  in  heaven,  with  you  in  my 
arms  and  your  eyes  shining  into  mine,  and  I  told  you  so." 

"So  you  make  the  same  pretty  speeches  to  all  women, 
eh?"  the  girl  reproached  him. 

"Isabel,  sweetheart,  I  lose  my  breath  when  I  think  of 
you;  my  lips  pucker  up  for  kisses — " 

"'Isabel'!"  exclaimed  a  voice,  and  the  lovers  started 
guiltily  apart.  They  turned  to  find  Este"ban,  Rosa's  twin 
brother,  staring  at  them  oddly.  "Isabel?"  he  repeated. 
"What's  this?" 

"You  interrupted  our  theatricals.  I  was  rehearsing  an 
impassioned  proposal  to  your  beloved  stepmother," 
O'Reilly  explained,  with  a  pretense  of  annoyance. 

"Yes,  Senor  O'Reilly  believes  he  can  infuriate  Isabel 
by    laying    siege    to    her.      He's   a — foolish   person — 
Rosa's  cheeks  were  faintly  flushed  and  her  color  deepened 
at  the  amusement  in  Este"ban's  eyes.     "He  makes  love 
wretchedly." 

"What  little  I  overheard  wasn't  bad,"  Este"ban  de- 
declared;  then  he  took  O'Reilly's  hand. 

Esteban  was  a  handsome  boy,  straight,  slim,  and 
manly,  and  his  resemblance  to  Rosa  was  startling.  With 
a  look  engaging  in  its  frank  directness,  he  said:  "Rosa 

37 


RAINBOW'S    END 

told  me  about  your  meetings  here  and  I  came  to  apologize 
for  our  stepmother's  discourtesy.  I'm  sorry  we  can't 
invite  you  into  our  house,  but — you  understand?  Rosa 
and  I  are  not  like  her;  we  are  quite  liberal  in  our  views; 
we  are  almost  Americans,  as  you  see.  I  dare  say  that's 
what  makes  Isabel  hate  Americans  so  bitterly." 

"Wouldn't  it  please  her  to  know  that  I'm  becoming 
Cubanized  as  fast  as  ever  I  can?"  ventured  the  caller. 

"Oh,  she  hates  Cubans,  too!"  laughed  the  brother. 
"She's  Spanish,  you  know.  Well,  it's  fortunate  you 
didn't  see  her  to-day.  Br-r!  What  a  temper!  We  had 
our  theatricals,  too.  I  asked  her  for  money,  as  usual,  and, 
as  usual,  she  refused.  It  was  like  a  scene  from  a  play. 
She'll  walk  in  her  sleep  to-night,  if  ever." 

Rosa  nodded  soberly,  and  O'Reilly,  suppressing  some 
light  reply  that  had  sprung  to  his  lips,  inquired,  curiously, 
"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

Brother  and  sister  joined  in  explaining  that  Dona  Isabel 
was  given  to  peculiar  actions,  especially  after  periods  of 
excitement  or  anger,  and  that  one  of  her  eccentricities  had 
taken  the  form  of  somnambulistic  wanderings.  ' '  Oh,  she's 
crazy  enough,"  Este"ban  concluded.  "I  believe  it's  her 
evil  conscience." 

Rosa  explained  further:  "She  used  to  steal  about  at 
night,  hoping  to  surprise  papa  or  Sebastian  going  or  coming 
from  the  treasure.  They  were  both  killed,  as  you  know, 
and  the  secret  of  the  hiding-place  was  lost.  Now  Isabel 
declares  that  they  come  to  her  in  her  sleep  and  that  she 
has  to  help  them  hunt  for  it,  whether  she  wishes  or  not. 
It  is  retribution."  The  speaker  drew  up  her  shoulders 
and  shivered,  but  Este"ban  smiled. 

"Bah!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'll  believe  in  ghosts  when  I 
see  one."  Then,  with  a  shake  of  his  head:  "Isabel  has 
never  given  up  the  hope  of  finding  that  treasure.  She 
would  like  to  see  Rosa  married,  and  me  fighting  with  the  In- 
surrectos,  so  that  she  might  have  a  free  hand  in  her  search." 

38 


"THE   O'REILLY' 

O'Reilly  scanned  the  speaker  silently  for  a  moment; 
then  he  said,  with  a  gravity  unusual  in  him,  "I  wonder  if 
you  know  that  you're  suspected  of — working  for  the 
Insurrecto  cause." 

"Indeed?    I  didn't  know." 

"Well,  it's  a  fact."  O'Reilly  heard  Rosa  gasp  faintly. 
"Is  it  truer"  he  asked. 

"I  am  a  Cuban."    Este"ban's  smile  was  a  trifle  grim. 

"Cuban?    Your  people  were  Spanish." 

"True.  But  no  Spaniard  ever  raised  a  Spanish  child  in 
Cuba.  We  are  Cubans,  Rosa  and  I." 

At  this  statement  the  sister  cried:  "Hush!  It  is  dan 
gerous  to  speak  in  that  way,  with  this  new  war  growing 
every  day." 

"But  O'Reilly  is  our  good  friend,"  Este"ban  protested. 

"Of  course  I  am,"  the  American  agreed,  "and  for  that 
reason  I  spoke.  I  hope  you're  not  too  deeply  involved 
with  the  rebels." 

"There,  Est^ban!  Do  you  hear?"  Turning  to  O'Reilly, 
Rosa  said,  imploringly:  "Please  reason  with  him.  He's 
young  and  headstrong  and  he  won't  listen  to  me." 

Este"ban  frowned.  "Young,  eh?  Well,  sometimes  the 
young  are  called  upon  to  do  work  that  older  men  wouldn't 
care  to  undertake." 

"What  work?"  O'Reilly's  eyes  were  still  upon  him. 
"You  can  tell  me." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  the  other  agreed.  "Well,  then,  I  know 
everybody  in  Matanzas;  I  go  everywhere,  and  the 
Spanish  officers  talk  plainly  before  me.  Somebody  must 
be  the  eyes  and  the  ears  for  Colonel  Lopez." 

"Colonel  Lopez!"  exclaimed  O'Reilly. 

Este"ban  nodded. 

Rosa's  face,  as  she  looked  at  the  two  men,  was  white 
and  worried.  For  a  time  the  three  of  them  sat  silent; 
then  the  American  said,  slowly,  "You'll  be  shot  if  you're 
caught." 

39 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Rosa  whispered:  "Yes!    Think  of  it!" 

"Some  one  must  run  chances,"  "Esteban  averred. 
"We're  fighting  tyranny;  all  Cuba  is  ablaze.  I  must  do 
my  part." 

"But  sooner  or  later  you'll  be  discovered — then  what?" 
persisted  O'Reilly. 

Est6ban  shrugged.  "Who  knows?  There'll  be  time 
enough  when — " 

"What  of  Rosa?" 

At  this  question  the  brother  stirred  uneasily  and 
dropped  his  eyes.  O'Reilly  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"You  have  no  right  to  jeopardize  her  safety.  Without 
you,  to  whom  could  she  turn?"  The  girl  flashed  her  ad 
mirer  a  grateful  glance. 

"  Senor,  you  for  one  would  see  that  she — " 

"  But — I'm  going  away."  O'Reilly  felt  rather  than  saw 
Rosa  start,  for  his  face  was  averted.  Purposely  he  kept 
his  gaze  upon  Esteban,  for  he  didn't  wish  to  see  the  slow 
pallor  that  rose  in  the  girl's  cheeks,  the  look  of  pain  that 
crept  into  her  eyes.  "I  came  here  to  tell  you  both  good- 
by.  I  may  be  gone  for  some  time.  I — I  don't  know  when 
I  can  get  back." 

"I'm  sorry,"  Este"ban  told  him,  with  genuine  regret. 
"We  have  grown  very  fond  of  you.  You  will  leave  many 
friends  here  in  Matanzas,  I'm  sure.  But  you  will  come 
back  before  long,  eh?" 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  I  can.  That  is,  if — "  He  did  not 
finish  the  sentence. 

"Good.  You're  one  of  us.  In  the  mean  time  I'll  re 
member  what  you  say,  and  at  least  I'll  be  careful."  By 
no  means  wanting  in  tact,  Esteban  rose  briskly  and,  after 
shaking  hands  with  O'Reilly,  left  the  two  lovers  to  say 
farewell  as  best  suited  them. 

But  for  once  O'Reilly's  ready  tongue  was  silent.  The 
laughter  was  gone  from  his  blue  eyes  when  he  turned  to 
the  girl  at  his  side. 

40 


'THE   O'REILLY' 

"You  say  you  are  going  away?"  Rosa  inquired,  breath 
lessly.  "But  why?" 

"I'm  going  partly  because  of  this  war,  and  partly  be 
cause  of — something  else.  I  tried  to  tell  you  yesterday, 
but  I  couldn't.  When  the  revolution  started  everybody 
thought  it  was  merely  a  local  uprising,  and  I  wrote  my 
company  to  that  effect;  but,  bless  you,  it  has  spread  like 
fire,  and  now  the  whole  eastern  end  of  the  island  is  ablaze." 

"Este*ban  says  it  will  be  more  terrible  than  the  Ten 
Years'  War." 

"God  forbid!  And  yet  all  the  old  fighters  are  back 
again.  Nobody  believed  that  Maximo  Gomez  had  re 
turned,  but  it's  true.  And  the  Maceos  are  here,  too,  from 
Costa  Rica.  Antonio  has  already  gained  control  of  most 
of  Santiago  Province,  and  he's  sweeping  westward.  Of 
course  the  Spaniards  minimize  the  reports  of  his  success, 
and  we,  here,  don't  understand  what's  really  going  on. 
Anyhow,  business  has  stopped,  and  my  employers  have 
ordered  me  home  to  find  out  what's  happened  to  their 
profits.  They  seem  to  hold  me  personally  responsible  for 
this  insurrection." 

"I  see.  And  when  you  have  told  them  the  truth  you 
will  come  back.  Is  that  it?" 

"I—    Perhaps." 

"You  said  there  was  something  else — " 

O'Reilly's  hesitation  became  an  embarrassed  silence. 
He  tried  to  laugh  it  off. 

"There  is,  otherwise  I'd  stay  right  here  and  tell  my 
penurious  friends  to  whistle  for  their  profits.  It  seems 
I'm  cursed  with  a  fatal  beauty.  You  may  have  noticed 
it?  No?  Well,  perhaps  it's  a  magnificent  business 
ability  that  I  have.  Anyhow,  the  president  of  my  com 
pany  has  a  notion  that  I'd  make  him  a  good  son- 
in-law." 

"I—    Oh!"  cried  Rosa. 

And  at  her  tone  O'Reilly  hurried  on: 
4  4i 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"These  rich  men  have  the  most  absurd  ideas.  I  sup 
pose  I'll  have  to — " 

"Then  you  are  in  love,  senor?" 

The  young  man  nodded  vigorously.  "Indeed  I  am — 
with  the  sweetest  girl  in  Cuba.  That's  the  whole  trouble. 
That's  why  I'm  hurrying  home  to  resign  before  I'm 
fired."  Not  daring  to  look  too  long  or  too  deeply  into 
Rosa  Varona's  eyes  until  she  had  taken  in  the  whole  truth, 
he  waited,  staring  at  his  feet.  "I'm  sort  of  glad  it  has 
come  to  a  show-down  and  I  can  speak  out.  I'm  hoping 
she'll  miss  me."  After  a  moment  he  ventured,  "Will  she 
— er — will  you,  Rosa?" 

"I?  Miss  you?"  Rosa  lifted  her  brows  in  pretended 
amazement.  Then  she  tipped  her  head  daintily  to  one 
side,  as  if  weighing  his  question  earnestly.  "You  are 
amusing,  of  course,  but — I  won't  have  much  time  to 
think  about  you,  for  I  am  so  soon  to  be  married." 

' '  Married  ?  What?  O'Reilly  started  violently,  and  the 
girl  exclaimed,  with  well-feigned  concern: 

"  Oh,  senor !  You  have  wounded  yourself  again  on  that 
thorn-bush.  This  place  is  growing  up  to  brambles." 

"It  wasn't  my  finger!  Something  pierced  me  through 
the  heart.  Married?  Nonsense!" 

' '  Indeed !  Do  you  think  I  'm  so  ugly  nobody  would  have 
me?" 

"Good  Lord!  You—"  O'Reilly  swallowed  hard.  "I 
won't  tell  you  the  truth  when  you  know  it  so  well." 

"The  richest  man  in  Matanzas  asked  for  my  hand 
this  very  afternoon." 

"Who?    Mario  de  Castano?" 

"Yes." 

O'Reilly  laughed  with  relief,  and  though  Rosa  tried  to 
look  offended,  she  was  forced  to  smile.  ' '  He's  fat,  I  know, ' ' 
she  admitted,  "and  he  makes  funny  noises  when  he 
breathes;  but  he  is  richer  than  Croesus,  and  I  adore  rich 
men." 

42 


'THE   O'REILLY' 

"I  hate  'em!"  announced  O'Reilly.  Then  for  a  second 
time  he  took  Rosa's  dimpled  hand,  saying,  earnestly: 
"I'm  sure  you  know  now  why  I  make  love  so  badly,  dear. 
It's  my  Irish  conscience.  And  you'll  wait  until  I  come 
back,  won't  you?" 

"Will  you  be  gone — very  long?"  she  asked. 

O'Reilly  looked  deeply  now  into  the  dark  eyes  turned 
to  his,  and  found  that  at  last  there  was  no  coquetry  in 
them  anywhere — nothing  but  a  lonesome,  hungry  yearn 
ing — and  with  a  glad,  incoherent  exclamation  he  held  out 
his  arms.  Rosa  Varona  crept  into  them;  then  with  a 
sigh  she  upturned  her  lips  to  his. 

"I'll  wait  forever,"  she  said. 


IV 

RETRIBUTION 

A  LTHOUGH  for  a  long  time  Dona  Isabel  had  been  sure 
/A.  in  her  own  mind  that  Pancho  Cueto,  her  adminis- 
trador,  was  robbing  her,  she  had  never  mustered  courage 
to  call  him  to  a  reckoning.  And  there  was  a  reason  for 
her  cowardice.  Nevertheless,  De  Castano's  blunt  accu 
sation,  coupled  with  her  own  urgent  needs,  served  to  fix 
her  resolution,  and  on  the  day  after  the  merchant's  visit 
she  sent  for  the  overseer,  who  at  the  time  was  living  on 
one  of  the  plantations. 

Once  the  message  was  on  its  way,  Isabel  fell  into  a  con 
dition  bordering  upon  panic,  and  was  half  minded  to 
countermand  her  order.  She  spent  an  evening  of  sus 
pense,  and  a  miserable  night.  This  last,  however,  was 
nothing  unusual  with  her;  she  was  accustomed  to  un 
pleasant  dreams,  and  she  was  not  surprised  when  old 
familiar  shapes  came  to  harass  her.  Nor,  in  view  of  her 
somnambulistic  vagaries,  was  she  greatly  concerned  to 
find,  when  she  woke  in  the  morning,  that  her  slippers 
were  stained  and  that  her  skirt  was  bedraggled  with  dew 
and  filled  with  burs. 

Scarcely  a  month  passed  that  she  did  not  walk  in  her 
sleep. 

Cueto  was  plainly  curious  to  learn  why  he  had  been 
sent  for,  but  since  he  asked  no  questions,  his  employer 
was  forced  to  open  the  subject  herself.  Several  times  he 
led  up  to  it  unsuccessfully;  then  she  took  the  plunge. 
Through  dry,  white  lips  she  began: 

44 


RETRIBUTION 

"My  dear  Pancho,  times  are  hard.  The  plantations 
are  failing,  and  so — "  Pancho  Cueto's  eyes  were  set  close 
to  his  nose,  his  face  was  long  and  thin  and  harsh;  he  re 
garded  the  speaker  with  such  a  sinister,  unblinking  stare 
that  she  could  scarcely  finish:  " — and  so  I — can  no 
longer  afford  to  retain  you  as  administrador." 

"  Times  will  improve,"  he  said. 

"Impossible!  This  war  threatens  to  bring  utter  ruin; 
and  now  that  Este"ban  and  Rosa  are  home  they  spend 
money  like  water.  I  groan  with  poverty." 

"Yes,  they  are  extravagant.  It  is  the  more  reason  for 
me  to  remain  in  your  service." 

"  No,  no !    I  tell  you  I'm  bankrupt." 

"So?  Then  the  remedy  is  simple — sell  a  part  of  your 
land." 

Although  this  suggestion  came  naturally  enough,  Dona 
Isabel  turned  cold,  and  felt  her  smile  stiffen  into  a  grimace. 
She  wondered  if  Cueto  could  be  feeling  her  out  deliber 
ately.  "Sell  the  Varona  lands?"  she  queried,  after  a  mo 
mentary  struggle  with  herself.  "  Este"ban  would  rise  from 
his  grave.  No.  It  was  his  wish  that  the  plantations 
go  to  his  children  intact." 

' '  And  his  wish  is  sacred  to  you,  eh  ?"  Cueto  nodded  his 
approval,  although  his  smile  was  disconcerting.  "An 
admirable  sentiment !  It  does  you  honor!  But  speaking 
on  this  subject,  I  am  reminded  of  that  dispute  with  Jose* 
Oroz  over  the  boundary  to  La  Joya.  He  is  a  rascal,  that 
Oroz;  he  would  steal  the  sap  out  of  your  standing  cane 
if  he  could.  I  have  promised  to  show  him  the  original 
deed  to  La  Joya  and  to  furnish  him  with  the  proofs  about 
the  boundary  line.  That  would  be  better  than  a  law 
suit,  wouldn't  it?" 

" Decidedly!    But — I  will  settle  with  him  myself." 

Cueto  lifted  an  admonitory  hand,  his  face  alight  with 
the  faintest  glimmer  of  ironic  mirth.  "I  couldn't  trust 
you  to  the  mercies  of  that  rascal,"  he  said,  piously.  "  No, 

45 


RAINBOW'S    END 

I  shall  go  on  as  I  am,  even  at  a  sacrifice  to  myself.  I 
love  Don  Este"ban's  children  as  my  very  own;  and  you, 
sefiora — " 

Isabel  knew  that  she  must  win  a  complete  victory  at 
once  or  accept  irretrievable  defeat. 

"Never!"  she  interrupted,  with  a  tone  of  finality.  "I 
can't  accept  your  sacrifice.  I  am  not  worthy.  Kindly 
arrange  to  turn  over  your  books  of  account  at  once.  I 
shall  make  you  as  handsome  a  present  as  my  circumstances 
will  permit  in  recognition  of  your  long  and  faithful  ser 
vice." 

Then  Pancho  Cueto  did  an  unexpected  thing:  he 
laughed  shortly  and  shook  his  head. 

Dona  Isabel  was  ready  to  faint  and  her  voice  quavered 
as  she  went  on:  "Understand  me,  we  part  the  best  of 
friends  despite  all  I  have  heard  against  you.  I  do  not 
believe  these  stories  people  tell,  for  you  probably  have 
enemies.  Even  if  all  they  say  were  true  I  should  force 
myself  to  be  lenient  because  of  your  affection  for  my 
husband." 

The  man  rose,  still  smiling.  "It  is  I  who  have  been 
lenient,"  said  he. 

"Eh?    Speak  plainly." 

"Gladly.  I  have  long  suspected  that  Don  Est<§ban 
hid  the  deeds  of  his  property  with  the  rest  of  his  valuables, 
and  now  that  you  admit — " 

Dona  Isabel  recoiled  sharply.  "Admit!  Are  you 
mad?  Deeds!  What  are  you  talking  about?"  Her  eyes 
met  his  bravely  enough,  but  she  could  feel  her  lips  trem 
bling  loosely. 

Casting  aside  all  pretense,  the  overseer  exclaimed: 
"  For  el  amor  de  Dios !  An  end  to  this !  I  know  why  you 
sent  for  me.  You  think  I  have  been  robbing  you.  Well, 
to  be  honest,  so  I  have.  Why  should  I  toil  as  I  do  while 
you  and  those  twins  live  here  in  luxury  and  idleness, 
squandering  money  to  which  you  have  no  right?" 

46 


RETRIBUTION 

"Have  I  lost  my  reason?"  gasped  the  widow.  "No 
right?" 

"At  least  no  better  right  than  I.  Don't  you  under 
stand?  You  have  no  title  to  those  plantations!  They 
are  mine,  for  I  have  paid  the  taxes  out  of  my  own  pockets 
now  these  many  years." 

"Taxes !    What  do  you  mean ?" 

"  I  paid  them.    The  receipts  are  in  my  name." 

"God!    Such  perfidy!    And  you  who  knew  him!" 

"The  deeds  have  been  lost  for  so  long  that  the  property 
would  have  reverted  to  the  crown  had  it  not  been  for  me. 
You  doubt  that,  eh?  Well,  appeal  to  the  court  and  you 
will  find  that  it  is  true.  For  that  matter,  the  officials 
make  new  laws  to  fit  each  case,  and  should  they  learn  that 
Este"ban  Varona  died  intestate  they  would  arrange  some 
how  to  seize  all  his  property  and  leave  you  without  a  roof 
over  your  head.  Fortunately  I  can  prevent  that,  for  I 
have  a  title  that  will  stand,  in  want  of  a  better  one." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence  while  the  unhappy 
woman  struggled  with  herself.  Then: 

"You  took  advantage  of  my  ignorance  of  business  to  rob 
me,"  she  declared.  "Well,  I  know  something  about  the 
Government  officials:  if  they  would  make  a  law  to  fit  my 
case  they  will  make  one  to  fit  yours.  When  I  tell  them 
what  you  have  done  perhaps  you  will  not  fare  so  well 
with  them  as  you  expect."  She  was  fighting  now  with  the 
desperation  of  one  cornered. 

"Perhaps.''  Cueto  shrugged.  "That  is  what  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about,  if  only  you  will  be  sensible.  Now 
then,  let  us  be  frank.  Inasmuch  as  we're  both  in  much  the 
same  fix,  hadn't  we  better  continue  our  present  arrange 
ments?"  He  stared  unblinkingly  at  his  listener.  "Oh, 
I  mean  it!  Is  it  not  better  for  you  to  be  content  with 
what  my  generosity  prompts  me  to  give,  rather  than  to 
risk  ruin  for  both  of  us  by  grasping  for  too  much?" 

"Merciful  God!  The  outrage!  I  warrant  you  have 

47 


RAINBOW'S    END 

grown  rich  through  your  stealing."  Isabel's  voice  had 
gone  flat  with  consternation. 

"Rich?  Well,  not  exactly,  but  comfortably  well  off." 
Cueto  actually  smiled  again.  "No  doubt  my  frankness  is 
a  shock  to  you.  You  are  angry  at  my  proposition,  eh? 
Never  mind.  You  will  think  better^of  it  in  time,  if  you  are 
a  sensible  woman." 

"What  a  fiend!    Have  you  no  sentiment?" 

"Oh,  senora!  I  am  all  sentiment.  Don  Este*ban  was 
my  benefactor.  I  revere  his  memory,  and  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  see  that  his  family  does  not  want.  That  is  why 
I  have  provided  for  you,  and  will  continue  to  provide — 
in  proper  measure.  But  now,  since  at  last  we  enjoy  such 
confidential  relations,  let  us  have  no  more  of  these  miser 
able  suspicions  of  each  other.  Let  us  entirely  forget  this 
unpleasant  misunderstanding  and  be  the  same  good 
friends  as  before." 

Having  said  this,  Pancho  Cueto  stood  silent  a  moment 
in  polite  expectancy;  then  receiving  no  intelligible  reply, 
he  bowed  low  and  left  the  room. 

To  the  avaricious  Dona  Isabel  Cueto's  frank  acknowl 
edgment  of  theft  was  maddening,  and  the  realization  that 
she  was  helpless,  nay,  dependent  upon  his  charity  for  her 
living,  fairly  crucified  her  proud  spirit. 

All  day  she  brooded,  and  by  the  time  evening  came  she 
had  worked  herself  into  such  a  state  of  nerves  that  she 
could  eat  no  dinner.  Locking  herself  into  her  room,  she 
paced  the  floor,  now  wringing  her  hands,  now  twisting  in 
agony  upon  her  bed,  now  biting  her  wrists  in  an  en 
deavor  to  clear  her  head  and  to  devise  some  means  of  out 
witting  this  treacherous  overseer.  But  mere  thought  of  the 
law  frightened  her;  the  longer  she  pondered  her  situation 
the  more  she  realized  her  own  impotence.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  the  courts  were  corrupt :  they  were  notoriously 
venal  at  best,  and  this  war  had  made  them  worse.  Graft 
was  rampant  everywhere.  To  confess  publicly  that 

48 


RETRIBUTION 

Esteban  Varona  had  left  no  deeds,  no  title  to  his  property, 
would  indeed  be  the  sheerest  folly.  No,  Cueto  had  her  at 
his  mercy. 

Sometime  during  the  course  of  the  evening  a  wild  idea 
came  to  Isabel.  Knowing  that  the  manager  would  spend 
the  night  beneath  her  roof,  she  planned  to  kill  him.  At 
first  it  seemed  a  simple  thing  to  do — merely  a  matter  of  a 
dagger  or  a  pistol,  while  he  slept — but  further  thought 
revealed  appalling  risks  and  difficulties,  and  she  decided 
to  wait.  Poison  was  far  safer. 

That  night  she  lay  awake  a  long  time  putting  her  scheme 
into  final  shape,  and  then  for  an  interval  that  seemed 
longer  she  hung  poised  in  those  penumbra!  regions  midway 
between  wakefulness  and  slumber.  Through  her  mind 
meanwhile  there  passed  a  whirling  phantasmagoria,  an 
interminable  procession  of  figures,  of  memories,  real  yet 
unreal,  convincing  yet  unconvincing.  When  she  did  at 
last  lose  all  awareness  of  reality  the  effect  was  merely  to 
enhance  the  vividness  of  those  phantoms,  to  lend  sub 
stance  to  her  vaporous  visions. 

Constant  brooding  over  the.  treasure  had  long  since 
affected  Dona  Isabel's  brain,  and  as  a  consequence  she 
often  dreamed  about  it.  She  dreamed  about  it  again  to 
night,  and,  strangely  enough,  her  dreams  were  pleasant. 
Sebastian  appeared,  but  for  once  he  neither  cursed  nor 
threatened  her;  and  Est6ban,  when  he  came,  was  again 
the  lover  who  had  courted  her  in  Habana.  It  was  all  very 
wonderful,  very  exciting,  very  real.  Dona  Isabel  found 
herself  robed  for  him  in  her  wedding-gown  of  white,  and 
realized  that  she  was  beautiful.  It  seemed  also  as  if  her 
powers  of  attraction  were  magically  enhanced,  for  she 
exercised  a  potent  influence  over  him.  Her  senses  were 
quickened  a,  thousandfold,  too.  For  instance,  she  could 
see  great  distances — a  novel  and  agreeable  sensation;  she 
enjoyed  strange,  unsuspected  perfumes;  she  Heard  the 
music  of  distant  waterfalls  and  understood  the  whispered 

49 


RAINBOW'S    END 

language  of  the  breeze.  It  was  amazing,  delightful. 
Esteban  and  she  were  walking  through  the  grounds  of  the 
quinta  and  he  was  telling  her  about  his  casks  of  Spanish 
sovereigns,  about  those  boxes  bound  with  iron,  about  the 
gold  and  silver  ornaments  of  heavenly  beauty  and  the 
pearls  as  large  as  plums.  As  he  talked,  Isabel  felt  herself 
grow  hot  and  cold  with  anticipation;  she  experienced 
spasms  of  delight.  She  felt  that  she  must  dance,  must 
run,  must  cast  her  arms  aloft  in  ecstasy.  Never  had  she 
experienced  so  keen  an  intoxication  of  joy  as  now,  while 
Esteban  was  leading  her  toward  the  treasure  and  wooing 
her  with  youthful  ardor. 

Then  of  a  sudden  Isabel's  whole  dream-world  dissolved. 
She  awoke,  or  thought  she  did,  at  hearing  her  name 
shouted.  But  although  she  underwent  the  mental  and 
the  physical  shock  of  being  startled  from  slumber,  although 
she  felt  the  first  swift  fright  of  a  person  aroused  to  strange 
surroundings,  she  knew  on  the  instant  that  she  must  still 
be  asleep;  for  everything  about  her  was  dim  and  dark,  the 
air  was  cold  and  damp,  wet  grass  rose  to  her  knees.  It 
flashed  through  her  mind  that  she  had  simply  been 
whirled  from  a  pleasant  dream  into  one  of  terror.  As  she 
fought  with  herself  to  throw  off  the  illusion  of  this  night 
mare  its  reality  became  overwhelming.  Warring,  in 
congruous  sensations,  far  too  swift  for  her  mind  to  com 
pass,  were  crowded  into  the  minutest  fraction  of  time. 
Before  she  could  half  realize  her  own  condition  she  felt 
herself  plunged  into  space.  Now  the  sensation  of  falling 
was  not  strange  to  Isabel — it  is  common  to  all  sufferers 
from  nightmare — nevertheless,  she  experienced  the  dawn 
of  a  horror  such  as  she  had  never  guessed.  She  heard 
herself  scream  hoarsely,  fearfully,  and  knew,  too  late, 
that  she  was  indeed  awake.  Then — whirling  chaos —  A  sud 
den,  blinding  crash  of  lights  and  sounds —  Nothing  more ! 

Esteban  Varona  sat  until  a  late  hour  that  night  over 


RETRIBUTION 

a  letter  which  required  the  utmost  care  in  its  composition. 
It  was  written  upon  the  thinnest  of  paper,  and  when  it 
was  finished  the  writer  inclosed  it  in  an  envelope  of  the 
same  material.  Este*ban  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket  with 
out  addressing  it.  Then  he  extinguished  his  light,  tip 
toed  to  the  door  connecting  his  and  Rosa's  rooms,  and 
listened.  No  sound  whatever  came  to  his  ears,  for  his 
sister  slept  like  a  kitten.  Reassured,  he  stole  out  into  the 
hall.  Here  he  paused  a  moment  with  his  ear  first  to 
Pancho  Cueto's  door,  and  then  to  the  door  of  his  step 
mother's  room.  He  could  hear  the  overseer's  heavy 
breathing  and  Isabel's  senseless  babbling — the  latter  was 
moaning  and  muttering  ceaselessly,  but,  being  accustomed 
to  her  restlessness,  Esteban  paid  no  heed. 

Letting  himself  out  into  the  night,  he  took  the  path  that 
led  to  the  old  sunken  garden.  Nocturnal  birds  were  chir 
ruping;  his  way  was  barred  with  spider-webs,  heavy 
with  dew  and  gleaming  in  the  moonlight  like  tiny  ropes 
of  jewels;  the  odor  of  gardenias  was  overpowering.  He 
passed  close  by  the  well,  and  its  gaping  black  mouth,  only 
half  protected  by  the  broken  coping,  reminded  him  that 
he  had  promised  Rosa  to  cover  it  with  planks.  In  its 
present  condition  it  was  a  menace  to  animals,  if  not  to 
human  beings  who  were  unaware  of  its  presence.  He  told 
himself  he  would  attend  to  it  on  the  morrow. 

Seating  himself  on  one  of  the  old  stone  benches,  the  young 
man  lit  a  cigarette  and  composed  himself  to  wait.  He  sat 
there  for  a  long  time,  grumbling  inwardly,  for  the  night  was 
damp  and  he  was  sleepy;  but  at  last  a  figure  stole  out  of 
the  gloom  and  joined  him.  The  new-comer  was  a  ragged 
negro,  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the  poorer  country  people. 

"Well,  Asensio,  I  thought  you'd  never  come.  I'll  get 
a  fever  from  this!"  Esteban  said,  irritably. 

"It  is  a  long  way,  Don  Esteban,  and  Evangelina  made 
me  wait  until  dark.  I  tell  you  we  have  to  be  careful  these 
days." 

Si 


RAINBOW'S    END 

.    "What  is  the  news?    What  did  you  hear?" 

Asensio  sighed  gratefully  as  he  seated  himself.  "One 
hears  a  great  deal,  but  one  never  knows  what  to  believe. 
There  is  fighting  in  Santa  Clara,  and  Maceo  sweeps  west 
ward." 

Taking  the  unaddressed  letter  from  his  pocket,  Este*ban 
said,  "I  have  another  message  for  Colonel  Lopez." 

"That  Lopez!  He's  here  to-day  and  there  to-morrow; 
one  can  never  find  him. ' ' 

"Well,  you  must  find  him,  and  immediately,  Asensio. 
This  letter  contains  important  news — so  important,  in 
fact" — Este"ban  laughed  lightly — "that  if  you  find  your 
self  in  danger  from  the  Spaniards  I'd  advise  you  to  chew 
it  up  and  swallow  it  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

"I'll  remember  that,"  said  the  negro,  "for  there's 
danger  enough.  Still,  I  fear  these  Spaniards  less  than 
the  guerrilleros:  they  are  everywhere.  They  call  them 
selves  patriots,  but  they  are  nothing  more  than  robbers. 
They—" 

Asensio  paused  abruptly.  He  seized  his  companion  by 
the  arm  and,  leaning  forward, stared  across  the  level  garden 
into  the  shadows  opposite.  Something  was  moving  there, 
under  the  trees;  the  men  could  see  that  it  was  white  and 
formless,  and  that  it  pursued  an  erratic  course. 

' '  What's  that  ? ' '  gasped  the  negro.  He  began  to  tremble 
violently  and  his  breath  became  audible.  Esteban  was 
compelled  to  hold  him  down  by  main  force.  "Jesus 
Cristo!  It's  old  Don  Este"ban,  your  father.  They  say 
he  walks  at  midnight,  carrying  his  head  in  his  two  hands." 

Young  Varona  managed  to  whisper,  with  some  show  of 
courage:  "Hush!  Wait!  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts." 
Nevertheless,  he  was  on  the  point  of  setting  Asensio  an 
example  of  undignified  flight  when  the  mysterious  object 
emerged  from  the  shadows  into  the  open  moonlight ;  then 
he  sighed  with  relief:  "Ah-h!  Now  I  see!  It  is  my 
stepmother.  She  is  asleep." 

52 


"AH-H!     NOW  i  SEE!     IT  is  MY  STEPMOTHER.     SHE  is  ASLEEP' 


RETRIBUTION 

"Asleep?"  Asensio  was  incredulous.  He  was  still  so 
unnerved  by  his  first  fright  that  Este"ban  dared  not  release 
him. 

"Yes;  her  eyes  are  open,  but  she  sees  nothing." 

"I  don't  like  such  things,"  the  negro  confessed  in  a 
shaky  voice.  "  How  can  she  walk  if  she  is  asleep  ?  If  her 
eyes  are  open,  how  can  she  help  seeing  us  ?  You  know  she 
hates  Evangelina  and  me." 

"I  tell  you  she  sees  nothing,  knows  nothing — "  For 
a  moment  or  two  they  watched  the  progress  of  the  white- 
robed  figure;  then  Este"ban  stirred  and  rose  from  his  seat. 
"She's  too  close  to  that  well.  There  is — "  He  started 
forward  a  pace  or  two.  "They  say  people  who  walk  at 
night  go  mad  if  they're  awakened  too  suddenly,  and  yet — " 

Dona  Isabel  was  talking  in  a  low,  throaty,  unnatural 
tone.  Her  words  were  meaningless,  but  the  effect,  at  that 
hour  and  in  those  surroundings,  was  bizarre  and  fearsome. 
Este"ban  felt  his  scalp  prickling  uncomfortably.  This  was 
very  creepy. 

When  the  somnambulist's  deliberate  progress  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  well  continued  he  called  her  name  softly. 
"Dona  Isabel!"  Then  he  repeated  it  louder.  "Dona 
Isabel!  Wake  up." 

The  woman  seemed  to  hear  and  yet  not  to  hear.  She 
turned  her  head  to  listen,  but  continued  to  walk. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  reassuringly.  "It  is  only 
Esteban — Dona  Isabel!  Stop!1'  Est^ban  sprang  forward, 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  for  at  the  sound  of  his 
name  Isabel  had  abruptly  swerved  to  her  right,  a  move 
ment  which  brought  her  dangerously  close  to  the  lip  of  the 
well. 

"STOP!    Go  BACK!"  screamed  the  young  man. 

Above  his  warning  there  came  a  shriek,  shrill  and 
agonized — a  wail  of  such  abysmal  terror  as  to  shock  the 
night  birds  and  the  insects  into  stillness.  Dona  Isabel 
slipped,  or  stumbled,  to  her  knees,  she  balanced  briefly, 

S3 


RAINBOW'S    END 

clutching  at  random  while  the  earth  and  crumbling  cement 
gave  way  beneath  her;  then  she  slid  forward  and  disap 
peared,  almost  out  from  between  Esteban's  hands.  There 
was  a  noisy  rattle  of  rock  and  pebble  and  a  great  splash 
far  below;  a  chuckle  of  little  stones  striking  the  water, 
then  a  faint  bubbling.  Nothing  more.  The  stepson 
stood  in  his  tracks,  sick,  blind  with  horror;  he  was  sway 
ing  over  the  opening  when  Asensio  dragged  him  back. 

Pancho  Cueto,  being  a  heavy  sleeper,  was  the  last  to 
be  roused  by  Esteban's  outcries.  When  he  had  hurriedly 
slipped  into  his  clothes  in  response  to  the  pounding  on  his 
door,  the  few  servants  that  the  establishment  supported 
had  been  thoroughly  awakened.  Este"ban  was  shouting 
at  them,  explaining  that  Dona  Isabel  had  met  with  an 
accident.  He  was  calling  for  a  lantern,  too,  and  a  stout 
rope.  Cueto  thought  they  must  all  be  out  of  their  minds 
until  he  learned  what  had  befallen  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  Then,  being  a  man  of  action,  he,  too,  issued 
swift  orders,  with  the  result  that  by  the  time  he  and 
Este"ban  had  run  to  the  well  both  rope  and  lantern  were 
ready  for  their  use.  Before  Este*ban  could  form  and  fit 
a  loop  for  his  shoulders  there  was  sufficient  help  on  hand 
to  lower  him  into  the  treacherous  abyss. 

It  was  a  commentary  upon  Dona  Isabel's  character  that 
during  the  long,  slow  moments  of  uncertainty  while 
Est6ban  was  being  lowered  the  negroes  exhibited  more 
curiosity  than  concern  over  her  fate.  In  half-pleased 
excitement  they  whispered  and  giggled  and  muttered 
together,  while  Pancho  lay  prone  at  the  edge  of  the  orifice, 
directing  them  how  to  manipulate  the  rope. 

That  was  a  gruesome  task  which  fell  to  Este*ban,  for  the 
well  had  been  long  unused,  its  sides  were  oozing  slime,  its 
waters  were  stale  and  black.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
fainting  when  he  finally  climbed  out,  leaving  the  negroes 
to  hoist  the  dripping,  inert  weight  which  he  had  found  at 
the  bottom. 

54 


RETRIBUTION 

Old  Sebastian's  curse  had  come  true;  Dona  Isabel  had 
met  the  fate  he  had  called  down  upon  her  that  day  when 
he  hung  exhausted  in  his  chains  and  when  the  flies  tor 
mented  him.  The  treasure  for  which  the  woman  had 
intrigued  so  tirelessly  had  been  her  death.  Like  an  ignis 
fatuus,  it  had  lured  her  to  destruction.  Furthermore,  as 
if  in  grimmest  irony,  she  had  been  permitted  at  the  very 
last  to  find  it.  Living,  she  had  searched  to  no  purpose 
whatsoever;  dying,  she  had  almost  grasped  it  in  her 
arms. 

Once  the  first  excitement  had  abated  and  a  messenger 
had  been  sent  to  town,  Cueto  drew  Este"ban  aside  and 
questioned  him. 

"A  shocking  tragedy  and  most  peculiar,"  said  the  over 
seer.  "Nothing  could  amaze  me  more." 

"Exactly!  And  all  because  of  her  sleep-walking.  I'm 
all  in  a  tremble." 

" She  was  asleep ?    You  are  sure?" 

"Have  I  not  told  you  so?"    Est£ban  was  impatient. 

"But  it  is  said  that  people  given  to  that  peculiarity 
never  come  to  grief.  They  say  some  sixth  sense  guides 
them — gives  them  warning  of  pitfalls  and  dangers.  I — I 
can't  understand — " 

"That  well  was  a  menace  to  a  waking  person.  I  didn't 
realize  how  near  to  it  she  was;  and  when  I  cried  out  to 
her  it  seemed  only  to  hasten  her  steps."  The  young  man 
shuddered,  for  the  horror  of  the  thing  was  still  in  his  mind. 

"Tell  me,  how  did  you  come  to  be  there  at  such  an 
hour,  eh?" 

Esteban  saw  the  malevolent  curiosity  in  Cueto's  face 
and  started.  "I —  That  is  my  affair.  Surely  you  don't 
think—" 

"Come,  come!  You  can  trust  me."  The  overseer 
winked  and  smiled. 

"I  had  business  that  took  me  there,"  stiffly  declared 
the  younger  man. 

55 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Exactly!  And  a  profitable  business  it  proved!" 
Cueto  laughed  openly  now.  "Well,  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  Dona  Isabel's  death  is  no  disappointment  to  any  one. 
Anybody  could  see — " 

"Stop!"  Esteban  was  turning  alternately  red  and 
white.  "You  seem  to  imply  something  outrageous." 

"Now  let  us  be  sensible.  I  understand  you  perfectly, 
my  boy.  But  an  officer  of  the  Guardia  Civil  may  arrive 
at  any  moment  and  he  will  want  to  know  how  you  came 
to  be  with  your  stepmother  when  she  plunged  into  that 
trap.  So  prepare  yourself.  If  only  you  had  not  given 
the  alarm.  If  only  yoti  had  waited  until  morning.  But 
— in  the  dead  of  night!  Alone!  He  will  think  it  queer. 
Suppose,  too,  he  learns  that  you  and  Dona  Isabel  quarreled 
the  other  day  over  money  matters?" 

Young  Varona  recovered  himself  quickly.  He  was 
watching  his  inquisitor  now  with  a  faintly  speculative 
frown.  When  Cueto  had  finished,  Esteban  said: 

"Dona  Isabel  and  I  frequently  quarreled  over  money 
matters,  so  there  is  nothing  strange  in  that.  You  would 
like  me  to  confess  to  some  black  iniquity  that  would  make 
us  better  friends,  eh?  Well,  it  so  happens  that  I  was  not 
alone  to-night,  but  that  another  person  saw  the  poor 
woman's  death  and  can  bear  me  out  in  everything  I  say. 
No,  Pancho,  you  overreach  yourself.  Now  then" — 
Esteban  was  quick-tempered,  and  for  years  he  had 
struggled  against  an  instinctive  distrust  and  dislike  of  the 
plantation  manager — "remember  that  I  have  become  the 
head  of  this  house,  and  your  employer.  You  will  do 
better  to  think  of  your  own  affairs  than  of  mine.  Do  you 
understand  me?  I  have  long  suspected  that  certain  mat 
ters  of  yours  need  attention,  and  at  the  first  opportunity 
I  intend  to  have  a  careful  reckoning  with  you.  I  think 
you  know  I  have  a  good  head  for  figures."  Turning  his 
back  upon  the  elder  man,  he  walked  away. 

Now  it  did  not  occur  to  Cueto  really  to  doubt  the  boy's 

56 


RETRIBUTION 

innocence,  though  the  circumstances  of  Dona  Isabel's 
death  were  suspicious  enough  to  raise  a  question  in  any 
mind;  but  in  view  of  Este"ban's  threat  he  thought  it  wise 
to  protect  himself  by  setting  a  back-fire.  It  was  with 
some  such  vague  idea  in  his  head  that  he  turned  to  the 
sunken  garden  as  the  first  gray  light  of  dawn  appeared. 
He  hoped  to  gain  some  inspiration  by  examining  the  place 
again,  and,  as  it  proved,  he  succeeded  beyond  his  most 
sanguine  expectations. 

As  he  sat  on  an  old  stone  bench,  moodily  repicturing 
the  catastrophe  as  Este*ban  had  described  it,  his  attention 
fell  upon  an  envelope  at  his  feet.  It  was  sealed;  it  was 
unaddressed.  Cueto  idly  broke  it  open  and  began  to  read. 
Before  he  had  gone  far  he  started;  then  he  cast  a  furtive 
glance  about.  But  the  place  was  secluded;  he  was  un 
observed.  When  he  finished  reading  he  rose,  smiling. 
He  no  longer  feared  Este"ban.  On  the  contrary,  he  rather 
pitied  the  young  fool;  for  here  between  his  fingers  was 
that  which  not  only  promised  to  remove  the  boy  from  his 
path  forever,  but  to  place  in  his  hands  the  entire  Varona 
estates.  Fate  was  kind.  After  years  of  patient  scheming 
Cueto  had  obtained  his  reward. 

One  afternoon,  perhaps  a  week  later,  Don  Mario  de 
Castano  came  puffing  and  blowing  up  to  the  quinta,  de 
manding  to  see  Rosa  without  a  moment's  delay.  The 
girl  appeared  before  her  caller  had  managed  to  dry  up  the 
streams  of  perspiration  resulting  from  his  exertions. 
With  a  directness  unusual  even  in  him  Don  Mario  began: 

"Rosa,  my  dear,  you  and  Este"ban  have  been  discovered ! 
I  was  at  lunch  with  the  comandante  when  I  learned  the 
truth.  Through  friendship  I  prevailed  upon  him  to  give 
you  an  hour's  grace." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Don  Mario?"  inquired  the  girl. 

' '  Come,  come !"  the  planter  cried,  impatiently.  ' '  Don't 
you  see  you  can  trust  me?  God!  The  recklessness,  the 
folly  of  young  people!  Could  you  not  leave  this  insur- 
5  57 


RAINBOW'S    END 

rection  to  your  elders?  Or  perhaps  you  thought  it  a 
matter  of  no  great  importance,  an  amusing  thing — " 

"  Don  Mario!"  Rosa  interrupted.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about." 

"You  don't,  eh ?"  The  caller's  wet  cheeks  grew  redder ; 
he  blew  like  a  porpoise.  "Then  call  Esteban  quickly! 
There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose."  When  the  brother  ap 
peared  De  Castafio  blurted  out  at  him  accusingly:  "Well, 
sir!  A  fine  fix  you've  put  yourself  in.  I  came  here  to 
warn  you,  but  Rosa  pretends  ignorance.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  interested  to  learn  that  Colonel  Fernandez  has 
issued  orders  to  arrest  you  and  your  sister  as  agents  of  J;he 
Insurrectos." 

"What?"  Este"ban  drew  back.  Rosa  turned  white 
as  a  lily  and  laid  a  fluttering  hand  upon  her  throat. 

"You  two  will  sleep  to-night  in  San  Severino,"  grimly 
announced  the  rotund  visitor.  "You  know  what  that 
means.  Cubans  who  enter  the  Castillo  seldom  come  out. 
Have  you  noticed  the  big  sharks  that  swim  about  under 
the  walls  of  it  ?  Do  you  know  what  bait  keeps  them  there  ? 
Well,  I'll  tell  you !  It's  the  bodies  of  rebel  sympathizers — 
foolish  people  like  you  who  call  themselves  patriots." 

Rosa  uttered  a  smothered  cry. 

"Colonel  Fernandez,"  Don  Mario  proceeded,  impres 
sively,  "did  me  this  favor,  knowing  me  to  be  a  suitor  for 
Rosa's  hand.  In  spite  of  his  duty  and  the  evidence  he — " 

"Evidence?    What  evidence?"  Esteban  asked,  sharply. 

"For  one  thing,  your  own  letter  to  Lopez,  the  rebel, 
warning  him  to  beware  of  the  trap  prepared  for  him  in 
Santa  Clara,  and  advising  him  of  the  Government  force 
at  Sabanilla.  Oh,  don't  try  to  deny  it!  I  read  it  with 
my  own  eyes,  and  it  means — death." 

In  the  ensuing  silence  the  fat  man's  asthmatic  breathing 
sounded  loudly;  it  was  like  the  respirations  of  an  excited 
eavesdropper. 

At  last  Rosa  said,  faintly:  "Esteban!  I  warned  you." 

58 


RETRIBUTION 

Este*ban  was  taken  aback,  but  it  was  plain  that  he  was 
not  in  the  least  frightened.  "They  haven't  caught  me 
yet,"  he  laughed. 

"You  say  they  intend  to  arrest  me  also?"  Rosa  eyed 
the  caller  anxiously. 

"Exactly!" 

"But  why?" 

"Yes!  Who  accuses  her,  and  of  what?"  Este"ban  in 
dignantly  demanded. 

"That  also  I  have  discovered  through  the  courtesy  of 
Colonel  Fernandez.  Your  accuser  is  none  other  than 
Pancho  Cueto." 

"Cueto!" 

"Yes,  he  has  denounced  both  of  you  as  rebels,  and  the 
letter  is  only  part  of  his  proof,  I  believe.  I  don't  know 
what  other  evidence  he  has,  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  the 
Government  does  not  require  much  proof  these  days. 
Suspicion  is  enough.  Now,  then,  you  can  guess  why  I  am 
here.  I  am  not  without  influence;  I  can  save  Rosa,  but 
for  you,  Este"ban,  I  fear  I  can  do  nothing.  You  must 
look  out  for  yourself.  Well?  What  do  you  say?  We're 
wasting  precious  time  standing  here  with  our  mouths 
open." 

When  Este"ban  saw  how  pale  his  sister  had  grown,  he 
took  her  in  his  arms,  saying,  gently:  "I'm  sorry,  dear. 
It's  all  my  fault."  Then  to  the  merchant,  "It  was  very 
good  of  you  to  warn  us." 

"Ha!"  Don  Mario  fanned  himself.  "I'm  glad  you 
appreciate  my  efforts.  It's  a  good  thing  to  have  the  right 
kind  of  a  friend.  I'll  marry  Rosa  within  an  hour,  and  I 
fancy  my  name  will  be  a  sufficient  shield — " 

Rosa  turned  to  her  elderly  suitor  and  made  a  deep 
courtesy.  "I  am  unworthy  of  the  honor,"  said  she. 
"You  see,  I — I  do  not  love  you,  Don  Mario." 

' '  Love !' '  exploded  the  visitor.  ' '  God  bless  you !  What 
has  love  to  do  with  the  matter?  Este"ban  will  have  to 

59 


RAINBOW'S    END 

ride  for  his  life  in  ten  minutes  and  your  property  will  be 
seized.  So  you  had  better  make  yourself  ready  to  go 
with  me." 

But  Rosa  shook  her  head. 

' '  Eh  ?    What  ails  you  ?    What  do  you  expect  to  do  ?" 

"I  shall  go  with  Esteban,"  said  the  girl. 

This  calm  announcement  seemed  to  stupefy  De  Castano. 
He  sat  down  heavily  in  the  nearest  chair,  and  with  his  wet 
handkerchief  poised  in  one  pudgy  hand  he  stared  fixedly 
at  the  speaker.  His  eyes  were  round  and  bulging,  the 
sweat  streamed  unheeded  from  his  temples.  He  resembled 
some  queer  bloated  marine  monster  just  emerged  from 
the  sea  and  momentarily  dazzled  by  the  light. 

"You —  You're  mad,"  he  finally  gasped.  "Este"ban, 
tell  her  what  it  means." 

But  this  Esteban  could  not  do,  for  he  himself  had  not 
the  faintest  notion  of  what  was  in  store  for  him.  War 
seemed  to  him  a  glorious  thing;  he  had  been  told  that  the 
hills  were  peopled  with  patriots.  He  was  very  young,  his 
heart  was  ablaze  with  hatred  for  the  Spaniards  and  for 
Pancho  Cueto.  He  longed  to  risk  his  life  for  a  free  Cuba. 
Therefore  he  said:  "Rosa  shall  do  as  she  pleases.  If  we 
must  be  exiles  we  shall  share  each  other's  hardships.  It 
will  not  be  for  long." 

"Idiot!"  stormed  the  fat  man.  "Better  that  you  gave 
her  to  the  sharks  below  San  Severino.  There  is  no  law, 
no  safety  for  women  outside  of  the  cities.  The  island  is 
in  anarchy.  These  patriots  you  talk  about  are  the  blacks, 
the  mulattoes,  the — lowest,  laziest  savages  in  Cuba." 

"Please!  Don  Mario!"  the  girl  pleaded.  "I  cannot 
marry  you,  for — I  love  another." 

"Eh?" 

"I  love  another.  I'm  betrothed  to  O'Reilly,  the 
American — and  he's  coming  back  to  marry  me." 

De  Castano  twisted  himself  laboriously  out  of  his  chair 
and  waddled  toward  the  door.  He  was  purple  with  rage 

60 


RETRIBUTION 

and  mortification.  On  the  threshold  he  paused  to  wheeze : 
"Very  well,  then.  Go!  I'm  done  with  both  of  you.  I 
would  have  lent  you  a  hand  with  this  rascal  Cueto,  but 
now  he  will  fall  heir  to  your  entire  property.  Well,  it  is 
a  time  for  bandits!  I — I — "  Unable  to  think  of  a 
parting  speech  sufficiently  bitter  to  match  his  disappoint 
ment,  Don  Mario  plunged  out  into  the  sunlight,  mutter 
ing  and  stammering  to  himself. 

Within  an  hour  the  twins  were  on  their  way  up  the 
Yumuri,  toward  the  home  of  Asensio  and  Evangelina; 
for  it  was  thither  that  they  naturally  turned.  It  was  well 
that  they  had  made  haste,  for  as  they  rode  down  into  the 
valley,  up  the  other  side  of  the  hill  from  Matanzas  came 
a  squad  of  the  Guardia  Civil,  and  at  its  head  rode  Pancho 
Cueto. 


V 

A  CRY  FROM  THE  WILDERNESS 

NEW  YORK  seemed  almost  like  a  foreign  city  to 
Johnnie  O'Reilly  when  he  stepped  out  into  it  on 
the  morning  after  his  arrival.  For  one  thing  it  was  bleak 
and  cold:  the  north  wind,  hailing  direct  from  Baffin's 
Bay,  had  teeth,  and  it  bit  so  cruelly  that  he  was  glad 
when  he  found  shelter  in  the  building  which  housed 
the  offices  of  the  Carter  Importing  Company.  The 
tropics  had  thinned  O'Reilly's  blood,  for  the  Cuban 
winds  bear  a  kiss  instead  of  a  sting ;  therefore  he  paused  in 
the  lower  hallway,  jostled  by  the  morning  crowds,  and 
tried  to  warm  himself.  The  truth  is  O'Reilly  was  not 
only  cold,  but  frightened. 

He  was  far  from  weak-hearted.  In  fact,  few  O'Reillys 
were  that,  and  Johnnie  had  an  ingrained  self-assurance 
which  might  have  been  mistaken  for  impudence,  but  for 
the  winning  smile  that  went  with  it.  Yet  all  the  way  from 
Havana  he  had  seen  in  his  mind's  eye  old  Sam  Carter 
intrenched  behind  his  flat-topped  desk,  and  that  picture 
had  more  than  once  caused  him  to  forget  the  carefully 
rehearsed  speech  in  which  he  intended  to  resign  his 
position  as  an  employee  and  his  prospects  as  a  son- 
in-law. 

That  desk  of  Mr.  Carter's  was  always  bare  and  orderly, 
cleared  for  action,  like  the  deck  of  a  battle-ship,  and  over 
it  many  engagements  had  been  fought,  for  the  man  behind 
it  never  shirked  a  conflict.  His  was  a  vigorous  and 

62 


A   CRY    FROM   THE    WILDERNESS 

irascible  temperament,  compounded  of  old-fashioned,  slow- 
burning  black  powder  and  nitroglycerine — a  combination 
of  incalculable  destructive  power.  It  was  a  perilously 
unstable  mixture,  too:  at  times  nothing  less  than  a  flame 
served  to  ignite  it;  on  other  occasions  the  office  force 
pussy-footed  past  Carter's  door  on  felt  soles,  and  even  then 
the  slightest  jar  often  caused  the  untoward  thing  to  let 
go.  In  either  event  there  was  a  deafening  roar,  much 
smoke,  and  a  deal  of  damage.  O'Reilly  felt  sure  that 
whatever  the  condition  of  Mr.  Carter's  digestion  or  the 
serenity  of  his  mind  at  the  beginning  of  their  interview, 
the  news  he  had  to  impart  would  serve  as  an  effective 
detonator,  after  which  it  would  be  every  man  for  himself. 
It  was  not  the  effect  of  his  report  concerning  the  firm's 
unprofitable  Cuban  connections  which  O'Reilly  feared 
would  cause  the  decks  to  heave  and  the  ship  to  rock — 
Samuel  Carter  could  take  calmly  the  most  disturbing 
financial  reverse — it  was  the  blow  to  his  pride  at  learning 
that  anybody  could  prefer  another  girl  to  his  daughter. 
Johnnie  shook  his  shoulders  and  stamped  his  feet,  but  the 
chill  in  his  bones  refused  to  go. 

He  did  gain  courage,  however,  by  thinking  of  Rosa 
Varona  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  with  arms  outstretched, 
with  eyes  tear-filled,  with  yearning  lips  aquiver  at  his 
going.  The  picture  warmed  him  magically,  and  it  was 
with  a  restored  determination  to  make  a  clean  breast  of 
the  matter  and  face  the  worst  that  he  took  the  elevator. 

The  office  force  of  the  Carter  Importing  Company 
looked  up  when  the  firm's  Cuban  representative  entered 
the  door,  but  its  personnel  having  changed  as  the  result 
of  one  of  those  periodical  disruptions  that  occurred  in  the 
inner  office,  he  was  not  recognized  until  he  presented  him 
self  to  Mr.  Slack,  Samuel  Carter's  private  and  intimidated 
secretary. 

Mr.  Slack  smiled  wanly,  and  extended  a  clammy,  nerve 
less  hand  as  cold  and  limber  as  a  dead  fish. 

63 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"You're  expected,"  said  he.  "Mr.  Carter  is  waiting  to 
see  you  before  leaving  for  California." 

"Seeing  me  won't  make  his  trip  any  pleasanter," 
O'Reilly  said,  somberly. 

"We  were  afraid  you  wouldn't  get  out  of  Cuba;  thought 
we  might  have  to  get  the  American  consul  at  work." 

"Really?    I  didn't  know  I  was  so  important." 

"Oh,  you're  the  office  pet,  and  well  you  know  it." 
Mr.  Slack's  pleasantry  was  tinged  with  envy,  for  he  had 
never  been  able  to  appreciate  O'Reillv,  "Conditions  are 
bad,  eh?" 

' '  Yes.  Anybody  can  leave, ' '  the  other  told  him.  "It's 
getting  back  that's  difficult.  The  Spaniards  don't  like 
us,  and  I  dare  say  they  have  good  reason,  with  all  this  talk 
of  intervention  and  the  secret  help  we're  lending  the 
Insurrectos.  They  held  me  up  in  Havana;  tried  to  prove 
I  was  a  spy.  They  were  positively  peeved  when  they 
failed.  Snippy  people,  those  Spaniards." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  Mr.  Carter  you're  here."  The  secretary 
glided  unobtrusively  toward  the  private  office,  disap 
peared,  glided  softly  into  view  again,  and  waggled  a  bone 
less  forefinger  invitingly.  O'Reilly  went  to  meet  his 
employer  as  a  man  marches  to  execution. 

His  heart  sank  further  at  the  welcome  he  received,  for 
the  importer  gave  him  a  veritable  embrace;  he  patted 
him  on  the  back  and  inquired  three  times  as  to  his  health. 
O'Reilly  was  anything  but  cold  now;  he  was  perspiring 
profusely,  and  he  felt  his  collar  growing  limp.  To  shatter 
this  old  man's  eager  hopes  would  be  like  kicking  a  child 
in  the  face.  Carter  had  never  been  so  enthusiastic,  so 
demonstrative;  there  was  something  almost  theatrical 
in  his  greeting.  It  dismayed  O'Reilly  immensely  to 
realize  what  a  hold  he  must  have  upon  his  employer's 
affections.  Although  the  latter  had  a  reputation  for  self- ' 
control,  he  appeared  to  be  in  a  perfect  flutter  now.  He 
assumed  a  boisterousness  which  seemed  strained  and 

64 


A   CRY    FROM    THE    WILDERNESS 

wholly  out  of  keeping  with  the  circumstances.  His 
actions  vaguely  reminded  the  younger  man  of  an  ambling 
draft-horse  trying  to  gallop;  and  when,  for  the  fourth 
time,  Mr.  Carter  inquired  solicitously  concerning  his 
visitor's  well-being,  Johnnie's  dismay  turned  to  amaze 
ment.  With  a  heavy  playfulness  Mr.  Carter  at  length 
remarked: 

"Well,  my  boy,  you  made  a  fizzle  of  it,  didn't  you?" 
The  tone  was  almost  complimentary. 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  a  bright  and  shining  failure,"  O'Reilly 
acknowledged,  hopefully. 

"Now,  don't  'yes,  sir'  me.  We're  friends,  aren't  we? 
Good!  Understand,  I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least — 
it's  that  idiotic  revolution  that  spoiled  our  business.  I 
can't  understand  those  people.  Lord!  You  did  splen 
didly,  under  the  circumstances." 

"They  have  reason  enough  to  revolt — oppression, 
tyranny,  corruption."  O'Reilly  mumbled  the  familiar 
words  in  a  numb  paralysis  at  Mr.  Carter's  jovial  fa 
miliarity. 

"All  Latin  countries  are  corrupt,"  announced  the  im 
porter — "always  have  been  and  always  will  be.  They 
thrive  under  oppression.  Politics  is  purely  a  business 
proposition  with  those  people.  However,  I  dare  say 
this  uprising  won't  last  long." 

O'Reilly  welcomed  this  trend  of  the  conversation; 
anything  was  better  than  fulsome  praise,  and  the  discus 
sion  would  delay  the  coming  crash.  It  seemed  strange, 
however,  that  Samuel  Carter  should  take  time  to  dis 
course  about  generalities.  Johnnie  wondered  why  the 
old  man  didn't  get  down  to  cases. 

"It's  more  than  an  uprising,  sir,"  he  said.  "The 
rebels  have  overrun  the  eastern  end  of  the  island,  and 
when  I  left  Maceo  and  Gomez  were  sweeping  west." 

"Bah!    It  takes  money  to  run  a  war." 

"They   have  money,"   desperately   argued   O'Reilly. 

65 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Marti  raised  more  than  a  million  dollars,  and  every 
Cuban  cigar-maker  in  the  United  States  gives  a  part  of 
his  wages  every  week  to  the  cause.  The  best  blood  of 
Cuba  is  in  the  fight.  The  rebels  are  poorly  armed,  but 
if  our  Government  recognizes  their  belligerency  they'll 
soon  fix  that.  Spain  is  about  busted;  she  can't  stand  the 
strain." 

"I  predict  they'll  quit  fighting  as  soon  as  they  get  hun 
gry.  The  Government  is  starving  them  out.  However, 
they've  wound  up  our  affairs  for  the  time  being,  and — " 
Mr.  Carter  carefully  shifted  the  position  of  an  ink-well, 
a  calendar,  and  a  paper-knife — "that  brings  us  to  a  con 
sideration  of  your  and  my  affairs,  doesn't  it?  Ahem! 
You  remember  our  bargain?  I  was  to  give  you  a  chance 
and  you  were  to  make  good  before  you — er — planned  any 
— er — matrimonial  foolishness  with  my  daughter." 

"Yes,  sir."  O'Reilly  felt  that  the  moment  had  come 
for  his  carefully  rehearsed  speech,  but,  unhappily,  he  could 
not  remember  how  the  swan-song  started.  He  racked 
his  brain  for  the  opening  words. 

Mr.  Carter,  too,  was  unaccountably  silent.  He  opened 
his  lips,  then  closed  them.  Both  men,  after  an  awkward 
pause,  cleared  their  throats  in  unison  and  eyed  each 
other  expectantly.  Another  moment  dragged  past,  then 
they  chorused: 

"  I  have  an  unpleasant — " 

Each  broke  off  at  the  echo  of  his  own  words. 

"What's  that?"  inquired  the  importer. 

"N-nothing.    You  were  saying — " 

"I  was  thinking  how  lucky  it  is  that  you  and  Elsa 
waited.  Hm-m!  Very  fortunate."  Again  Mr.  Carter 
rearranged  his  desk  fittings.  "She  has  deep  feelings — 
got  a  conscience,  too.  Conscience  is  a  fine  thing  in  a 
woman — so  few  of  'em  have  it.  We  sometimes  differ, 
Elsa  and  I,  but  when  she  sets  her  heart  on  a  thing  I  see 
that  she  gets  it,  even  if  I  think  she  oughtn't  to  have  it. 

66 


A   CRY    FROM   THE    WILDERNESS 

What's  the  use  of  having  children  if  you  can't  spoil 
'em,  eh  ?"  He  looked  up  with  a  sort  of  resentful  challenge, 
and  when  his  listener  appeared  to  agree  with  him  he  sighed 
with  satisfaction.  "Early  marriages  are  silly — but  she 
seems  to  think  otherwise.  Maybe  she's  right.  Anyhow, 
she's  licked  me.  I'm  done.  She  wants  to  be  married 
right  away,  before  we  go  West.  That's  why  I  waited  to 
see  you  at  once.  You're  a  sensible  fellow,  Johnnie — no 
foolishness  about  you.  You  won't  object,  will  you?  We 
men  have  to  take  our  medicine." 

"It's  quite  out  of  the  question,"  stammered  the  un 
happy  O'Reilly. 

"Come,  come!  It's  tough  on  you,  I  know,  but — " 
The  fuse  had  begun  to  sputter.  Johnnie  had  a  horrified 
vision  of  himself  being  dragged  unwillingly  to  the  altar. 
"Elsa  is  going  to  have  what  she  wants,  if  I  have  to  break 
something.  If  you'll  be  sensible  I'll  stand  behind  you  like 
a  father  and  teach  you  the  business.  I'm  getting  old,  and 
Ethelbert  could  never  learn  it.  Otherwise — "  The  old 
man's  jaw  set;  his  eyes  began  to  gleam  angrily. 

"Who  is— Ethelbert?"  faintly  inquired  O'Reilly. 

"Why,  dammit!  He's  the  fellow  I've  been  telling  you 
about.  He's  not  so  bad  as  he  sounds;  he's  really  a  nice 
boy—" 

"Elsa  is  in  love  with  another  man?  Is  that  what  you 
mean?" 

"Good  Lord,  yes!  Don't  you  understand  English?  I 
didn't  think  you'd  take  it  so  hard — I  was  going  to  make 
a  place  for  you  here  in  the  office,  but  of  course  if —  Say! 
What  the  deuce  ails  you?" 

Samuel  Carter  stared  with  amazement,  for  the  injured 
victim  of  his  daughter's  fickleness  had  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  was  shaking  his  hand  vigorously,  meanwhile  uttering 
unintelligible  sounds  that  seemed  to  signify  relief,  pleasure, 
delight — anything  except  what  the  old  man  expected. 

"Are  you  crazy,  or  am  I?"  he  queried. 

67 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Yes,  sir;  delirious.  It's  this  way,  sir;  I've  changed 
my  mind,  too." 

"Oh—!     You  have?" 

"  I've  met  the  dearest,  sweetest " — O'Reilly  choked,  then 
began  again — "the  dearest,  loveliest — " 

"Never  mind  the  bird-calls — don't  coo!  I  get  enough 
of  that  at  home.  Don't  tell  me  she's  dearer  and  sweeter 
thanElsa.  Another  girl!  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  Young 
man,  you're  a  fool." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Slightly  mollified  by  this  ready  acknowledgment,  Mr. 
Carter  grunted  with  relief.  "Humph!  It  turned  out 
better  than  I  thought.  Why,  I — I  was  positively  terrified 
when  you  walked  in.  And  to  think  you  didn't  need  any 
sympathy!" 

"I  do  need  that  job,  though.  It  will  enable  me  to  get 
married." 

"Nonsense!  Better  wait.  I  don't  believe  in  early  en 
gagements." 

"Oh  yes,  you  do." 

"Well,  that  depends.  But,  say — you're  a  pretty  nervy 
youth  to  turn  down  my  daughter  and  then  hold  me  up 
for  a  job,  all  in  the  same  breath.  Here !  Don't  dance  on 
my  rug.  I  ought  to  be  offended,  and  I  am,  but —  Get 
out  while  I  telephone  Elsa,  so  she  can  dance,  too." 

O'Reilly  spent  that  evening  in  writing  a  long  letter  to 
Rosa  Varona.  During  the  next  few  days  his  high  spirits 
proved  a  trial  and  an  affront  to  Mr.  Slack,  who,  now  that 
his  employer  had  departed  for  the  West,  had  assumed  a 
subdued  and  gloomy  dignity  to  match  the  somber  respon 
sibilities  of  his  position. 

Other  letters  went  forward  by  succeeding  posts,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  now  that  O'Reilly's  pen  was  tipped 
with  magic!  He  tingled  when  he  reread  what  he  had 
written.  He  bade  Rosa  prepare  for  his  return  and  their 
immediate  marriage.  The  fun  and  the  excitement  of 

68 


A   CRY    FROM   THE    WILDERNESS 

planning  their  future  caused  him  to  fill  page  after  page  with 
thrilling  details  of  the  flat-hunting,  home-fitting  excur 
sions  they  would  take  upon  their  return  to  New  York. 
He  wrote  her  ecstatic  descriptions  of  a  suite  of  Grand 
Rapids  furniture  he  had  priced;  he  wasted  a  thousand 
emotional  words  over  a  set  of  china  he  had  picked  out, 
and  the  results  of  a  preliminary  trip  into  the  apartment- 
house  district  required  a  convulsive  three-part  letter  to 
relate.  It  is  remarkable  with  what  poetic  fervor,  what 
strength  of  feeling,  a  lover  can  describe  a  five-room  flat; 
with  what  glories  he  can  furnish  it  out  of  a  modest  salary 
and  still  leave  enough  for  a  life  of  luxury. 

But  O'Reilly's  letters  did  not  always  touch  upon 
practical  things;  there  was  a  wide  streak  of  romance  in 
him,  and  much  of  what  he  wrote  was  the  sort  of  thing  which 
romantic  lovers  always  write — tender,  foolish,  worshipful 
thoughts  which  half  abashed  him  when  he  read  them 
over.  But  that  Rosa  would  thrill  to  them  he  had  no 
doubt,  nor  had  he  any  fear  that  she  would  hesitate  to 
leave  her  native  land  for  him.  O'Reilly's  love  was  un 
limited;  his  trust  in  the  girl  was  absolute.  He  knew, 
moreover,  that  she  loved  and  trusted  him.  This,  to  be 
sure,  was  a  miracle — a  unique  phenomenon  which  never 
ceased  to  amaze  him.  He  did  not  dream  that  every  man 
had  felt  the  same  vague  wonder. 

And  so  the  time  passed  rapidly.  But,  strange  to  say, 
there  came  no  answer  to  those  letters.  O'Reilly  chafed: 
he  cursed  the  revolution  which  had  made  communication 
so  uncertain;  at  length  he  cabled,  but  still  the  days 
dragged  on  with  no  result.  Gradually  his  impatience  gave 
way  to  apprehension.  Unreasonable  conjectures  be 
sieged  his  mind  and  destroyed  his  peace. 

Great  was  his  relief,  therefore,  when  one  day  a  worn, 
stained  envelope  addressed  in  Rosa's  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  desk.  The  American  stamp,  the  Key  West  postmark, 
looked  strange,  but —  Her  first  letter!  O'Reilly  won- 

69 


RAINBOW'S    END 

dered  if  his  first  letter  to  her  could  possibly  have  moved 
her  as  this  moved  him.  He  kissed  the  envelope  where 
her  lips  had  caressed  it  in  the  sealing.  Then  with  eager 
fingers  he  broke  it  open. 

It  was  a  generous  epistle,  long  and  closely  written,  but 
as  he  read  his  keen  delight  turned  to  dismay,  and  when  he 
had  turned  the  last  thin  page  his  brain  was  in  wildest 
turmoil.  He  thought  he  must  be  dreaming.  He  turned 
sick,  aching  eyes  upon  his  surroundings  to  prove  this  thing 
a  nightmare,  but  the  prosaic  clink  of  a  typewriter  and  the 
drone  of  a  voice  dictating  quotations  on  Brazilian  coffee 
were  conclusive  evidence  to  the  contrary.  Those  pages 
between  his  thumb  and  finger  were  real.  Yes,  and  that 
was  Rosa's  writing.  Could  it  be  that  he  had  misunder 
stood  anything?  He  turned  to  the  beginning  and  at 
tempted  to  read,  but  his  hands  shook  so  that  he  was 
obliged  to  lay  the  letter  flat  upon  his  desk. 

Rosa's  Spanish  training  had  been  severely  tried.  The 
stiff,  quaint  formality  of  her  opening  paragraphs  only 
served  to  emphasize  her  final  frightened  cry  for  help. 

MY  DEARLY  BELOVED, — It  is  with  diffidence  and  hesitation 
that  I  take  my  pen  in  hand,  for  I  fear  you  may  consider  me  un 
duly  forward  in  writing  to  you  without  solicitation.  Believe  me, 
I  appreciate  the  reserve  which  a  young  lady  of  refinement  should 
practise  even  in  her  correspondence  with  the  gentleman  who  has 
honored  her  with  his  promise  of  marriage,  but  my  circumstances 
are  such  as  to  banish  consideration  of  the  social  niceties. 

Alas!  What  events  have  followed  your  departure  from 
Matanzas!  What  misfortunes  have  overtaken  Esteban  and  me. 
That  happiness  could  be  so  swiftly  succeeded  by  misery,  that 
want  could  follow  plenty,  that  peril  could  tread  so  closely  upon 
the  heels  of  safety!  Where  to  begin,  how  to  tell  you,  I  scarcely 
know;  my  hand  shakes,  my  eyes  are  blinded — nor  dare  I  trust 
myself  to  believe  that  this  letter  will  ever  reach  you,  for  we  are 
refugees,  Esteban  and  I — fugitives,  outcasts,  living  in  the 
manigua  with  Asensio  and  Evangelina,  former  slaves  of  our 
father.  Such  poverty,  such  indescribable  circumstances!  But 

70 


A   CRY    FROM   THE    WILDERNESS 

they  were  our  only  friends  and  they  took  us  in  when  we  were 
homeless,  so  we  love  them. 

I  see  you  stare  at  these  words.  I  hear  you  say,  "That  Rosa 
has  gone  mad,  like  her  wicked  stepmother!"  Indeed,  sometimes 
I  think  I  have.  But,  no.  I  write  facts.  It  is  a  relief  to  put 
them  down,  even  though  you  never  read  them.  Good  Asensio 
will  take  this  letter  on  his  horse  to  the  Insurrecto  camp,  many 
miles  away,  and  there  give  it  to  Colonel  Lopez,  our  only  friend, 
who  promises  that  in  some  mysterious  way  it  will  escape  the  eyes 
of  our  enemies  and  reach  your  country.  Yes,  we  have  enemies! 
We,  who  have  harmed  no  one.  Wait  until  I  tell  you. 

But  if  this  letter  reaches  you — and  I  send  it  with  a  prayer — 
what  then?  I  dare  not  think  too  long  of  that,  for  the  hearts 
of  men  are  not  like  the  hearts  of  women.  What  will  you  say 
when  you  learn  that  the  Rosa  Varona  whom  you  favored  with 
your  admiration  is  not  the  Rosa  of  to-day?  I  hear  you  murmur, 
"The  girl  forgets  herself!"  But,  oh,  the  standards  of  yesterday 
are  gone  and  my  reserve  is  gone,  too!  I  am  a  hunted  creature. 

O'Reilly  felt  a  great  pain  in  his  breast  at  the  thought 
that  Rosa  had  for  an  instant  doubted  him.  But  she  did 
not  really  doubt;  those  misgivings  were  but  momentary; 
the  abandon  of  her  appeal  showed  that  in  her  heart  of 
hearts  she  knew  his  love  to  be  unshakable. 

She  had  compelled  herself  to  start  with  the  death  of 
Dona  Isabel  and  to  give  him  a  succinct  account  of  all  that 
had  followed.  O'Reilly  read  the  story,  fascinated.  Here, 
amid  these  surroundings,  with  the  rattle  of  typewriters 
and  the  tinkle  of  telephone-bells  in  his  ears,  it  all  seemed 
wholly  improbable,  fancifully  unreal — like  the  workings  of 
some  turgid  melodrama. 

That  is  how  we  came  to  live  with  Asensio  and  his  wife  [the 
letter  went  on].  Imagine  it!  A  bohio,  hidden  away  far  up  the 
Yumuri,  and  so  insignificant  as  to  escape  attention.  We  are 
no  longer  people  of  consequence  or  authority;  our  safety  depends 
upon  our  inconspicuousness.  We  hide  as  do  the  timid  animals, 
though  nature  has  not  given  us  their  skill  in  avoiding  danger.  I 
do  not  like  the  wilderness;  it  frightens  me.  At  night  I  hear 


RAINBOW'S    END 

things  rustling  through  the  thatch  above  my  head;  in  the  morn 
ing  my  feet  touch  a  bare  earthen  floor.  We  live  on  fruits  and 
vegetables  from  Evangelina's  garden,  with  now  and  then  a  fowl 
or  a  bite  of  meat  when  Asensio  is  fortunate.  Est6ban  does  not 
seem  to  mind,  but  I  cannot  accommodate  myself  to  these  bar 
barous  surroundings.  Sometimes  I  bite  my  tongue  to  keep 
from  complaining,  for  that,  I  know,  would  grieve  him. 

The  whole  country  is  in  chaos.  There  is  no  work — nothing  but 
suspicion,  hatred,  and  violence.  Oh,  what  desolation  this  war 
has  wrought !  Este'ban  has  already  become  a  guerrillero.  He  has 
stolen  a  cow,  and  so  we  have  milk  for  our  coffee;  but  there  is 
only  a  handful  of  coffee  left,  and  little  hope  of  more.  Marauding 
bands  of  Spaniards  are  everywhere,  and  the  country  people  tell 
atrocious  tales  about  them.  How  will  it  end?  How  long  before 
they  will  discover  us  and  the  worst  will  happen? 

Soon  after  our  arrival  Este'ban  went  to  the  camp  of  Colonel 
Lopez  to  arrange  for  us  to  join  his  army,  but  returned  heart 
broken.  It  was  impossible,  it  seems,  on  my  account.  Condi 
tions  with  the  patriots  are  worse  than  with  us  here,  and  the 
colonel  acknowledged  frankly  that  he  could  not  be  burdened  with 
a  woman  in  his  command.  So  Este'ban  has  given  up  for  the 
present  his  dream  of  fighting,  and  devotes  himself  to  protecting 
me.  You  see  there  is  no  sanctuary,  no  help  but  his  right  arm. 
The  towns  are  in  Spanish  hands,  the  manigua  is  infested  with 
lawless  men,  and  there  is  no  place  in  which  to  hide  me.  So  I 
feel  myself  a  burden.  Est£ban  has  plans  to  arm  a  band  of  his 
own.  I  am  numb  with  dread  of  what  it  may  lead  to,  for  his 
hatred  is  centered  upon  Cueto,  that  false  servant  whose  wicked 
ness  reduced  us  to  this  extremity.  Esteban  is  so  young  and 
reckless.  If  only  you  were  here  to  counsel  him. 

If  only  you  were  here —  Oh,  my  dearest  Juan!  If  only  you 
were  here — to  take  me  in  your  arms  and  banish  this  ever  constant 
terror  at  my  heart.  If  only  you  were  here  to  tell  me  that  you 
love  me  still  in  spite  of  my  misfortune.  See!  The  tears  are 
falling  as  I  write.  My  eyes  are  dim,  my  fingers  trace  uncertain 
letters  on  the  sheet,  and  I  can  only  steady  them  when  I  re 
member  that  you  promised  to  return.  You  will  return,  will 
you  not?  I  could  not  write  like  this  if  I  were  sure  that  you 
would  read  these  lines.  My  nightly  prayer —  But  I  will  not 

72 


A   CRY    FROM   THE   WILDERNESS 

tell  you  of  my  prayers,  for  fate  may  guide  this  letter  to  you, 
after  all,  and  the  hearts  of  men  do  change.  In  those  dark  hours 
when  my  doubts  arise  I  try  to  tell  myself  that  you  will  surely 
come  and  search  me  out. 

Sometimes  I  play  a  game  with  Evangelina — our  only  game. 
We  gather  wild  flowers.  We  assort  the  few  belongings  that  I 
managed  to  bring  with  me  and  I  array  myself  for  you.  And 
then  I  smile  and  laugh  for  a  little  while,  and  she  tells  me  I  am 
beautiful  enough  to  please  you.  But  the  flowers  fade,  and  I 
know  that  beauty,  too,  will  fade  in  such  surroundings.  What 
then?  I  ask  myself. 

When  you  return  to  Cuba — see,  my  faith  is  strong  again — 
avoid  Matanzas,  for  your  own  sake  and  mine.  Don  Mario 
wanted  to  marry  me  to  save  me  this  exile.  But  I  refused;  I 
told  him  I  was  pledged  to  you,  and  he  was  furious.  He  is 
powerful;  he  would  balk  you,  and  there  is  always  room  for  one 
more  in  San  Severino.  Pancho  Cueto,  too,  living  in  luxury  upon 
the  fruits  of  his  crime,  would  certainly  consider  you  a  menace 
to  his  security.  You  see  how  cunning  my  love  for  you  has 
made  me? 

If  I  could  come  to  you,  I  would,  but  I  am  marked.  So  if 
you  still  desire  me  you  must  search  me  out.  You  will?  I 
pin  my  faith  to  that  as  to  the  Cross.  To  doubt  would  be  to 
perish.  If  we  should  have  to  find  another  hiding-place,  and 
that  is  always  likely,  you  can  learn  of  our  whereabouts  from 
Colonel  Lopez. 

Alas!  If  you  had  asked  me  to  go  with  you  that  day!  I 
would  have  followed  you,  for  my  heart  beat  then  as  it  beats  to 
day,  for  you  alone. 

The  candle  is  burning  low  and  it  will  soon  be  daylight,  and 
then  this  letter  must  begin  its  long,  uncertain  journey.  I 
must  creep  into  my  bed  now,  to  pray  and  then  to  dream.  It  is 
cold,  before  the  dawn,  and  the  thatch  above  me  rustles.  I  am 
very  poor  and  sad  and  lonely,  O'Reilly,  but  my  cheeks  are  full 
and  red;  my  lips  could  learn  to  smile  again,  and  you  would  not 
be  ashamed  of  me. 

Asensio  is  rising.  He  goes  to  find  his  horse  and  I  must  close. 
God  grant  this  reaches  you,  some  time,  somehow.  I  trust  the 
many  blots  upon  the  paper  will  not  give  you  a  wrong  impression 

6  73 


RAINBOW'S    END 

of  my  writing,  for  I  am  neat,  and  I  write  nicely;  only  now  the 
ink  is  poor  and  there  is  very  little  of  it.  There  is  little  of  any 
thing,  here  at  Asensio's  house,  except  tears.  Of  those  I  fear 
there  are  too  many  to  please  you,  my  Juan,  for  men  do  not 
like  tears.  Therefore  I  try  to  smile  as  I  sign  myself, 
Your  loving  and  your  faithful 

ROSA. 
O  God!    Come  quickly,  if  you  love  me. 


VI 

THE  QUEST  BEGINS 

WHEN  O'Reilly  had  finished  his  second  reading  of 
the  letter  there  were  fresh  blots  upon  the  pitifully 
untidy  pages.  "I  write  nicely,  only  the  ink  is  poor — " 
"There  is  little  of  anything  here  at  Asensio's  house — " 
"It  is  cold  before  the  dawn — "  .  .  .  Poor  little  Rosa! 
He  had  always  thought  of  her  as  so  proud,  so  high- 
spirited,  so  playful,  but  another  Rosa  had  written  this 
letter.  Her  appeal  stirred  every  chord  of  tenderness, 
every  impulse  of  chivalry  in  his  impressionable  Irish 
nature.  She  doubted  him;  she  feared  he  would  not  come 
to  her.  Well,  he  would  set  her  doubts  at  rest.  "O  God! 
Come  quickly,  if  you  love  me."  He  leaped  to  his  feet; 
he  dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Slack  looked  up  astonished  at  the  apparition  which 
burst  in  upon  him.  He  was  accustomed  to  O'Reilly's 
high  head  of  steam  and  disapproved  of  it,  but  he  had 
never  seen  the  fellow  so  surcharged  as  now.  He  was 
positively  jumpy;  his  voice  was  sharp;  his  hands  were 
unsteady;  his  eyes  were  bright  and  blue  and  hard. 

"I  want  my  salary,  quick,"  Johnnie  began. 

Mr.  Slack  resented  emotion,  he  abominated  haste;  he 
had  cultivated  what  he  considered  to  be  a  thorough  com 
mercial  deliberation. 

"My  dear  man,"  he  said,  "I'd  advise  you — " 

"I  don't  want  advice;  I  want  money,"  snapped  the 
other.  "I've  quit,  resigned,  skipped,  fled." 

75 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Indeed?    When  does  your  resignation  take  effect?" 

"Immediately,  and  if  you  don't  move  like  lightning  it 
will  take  effect  upon  your  person." 

"  Mr.  Carter  would  never — " 

"Bother  Mr.  Carter!  Now  stiffen  your  spine  long 
enough  to  write  my  check.  If  you  don't — "  O'Reilly 
compressed  his  lips  and  breathed  ominously  through  his 
nostrils.  He  laid  a  heavy  and  persuasive  hand  upon  the 
secretary's  shoulder.  "Hump  yourself,  old  jellyfish!" 

There  was  a  queer,  wild  light  in  O'Reilly's  eye  and  for 
once  Mr.  Slack  took  orders  from  an  underling.  He 
humped  himself. 

Johnnie's  other  preparations  were  conducted  with 
equal  vigor  and  promptitude;  within  two  hours  his  be 
longings  were  packed.  But  for  all  his  haste  his  mind  was 
working  clearly.  Rosa's  warning  not  to  come  to  Matanzas 
was  no  doubt  warranted,  and  his  own  unpleasant  experi 
ences  with  the  customs  men  at  Havana  were  still  fresh 
enough  to  be  vivid.  The  Spaniards  were  intensely  sus 
picious  of  all  Americans,  especially  incoming  ones,  as  he 
had  reason  to  know,  and  since  he  was  nearly  as  well  ac 
quainted  in  the  one  place  as  in  the  other  it  seemed  to  be 
the  part  of  wisdom  to  slip  into  the  country  through  a  side 
door.  The  seat  of  war  was  in  the  east.  The  rebels  held 
that  part  of  the  island.  Once  there  and  in  touch  with 
them  it  would  surely  be  no  difficult  task  to  evade  the 
local  authorities  and  join  Colonel  Lopez. 

O'Reilly  pondered  these  thoughts  briefly,  then  seized 
his  hat  and  hastened  down-town  to  the  office  of  the  Cuban 
Junta. 

At  this  time  the  newspapers  of  the  United  States  were 
devoting  much  space  to  the  insular  uprising;  the  first 
stories  of  Spanish  atrocities  later,  alas !  destined  to  become 
all  too  familiar,  were  gaining  public  attention,  and  there 
were  few  readers  who  did  not  know  something  about  the 
activities  of  that  body  of  patriots  who  made  their  head- 

76 


THE   QUEST    BEGINS 

quarters  at  56  New  Street.  It  was  from  this  place  that 
the  revolution  was  largely  financed,  so  the  papers  said. 
It  was  there  that  the  filibustering  expeditions  supplying 
arms  and  ammunition  originated.  To  56  New  Street 
O'Reilly  went. 

There  was  nothing  martial  about  the  atmosphere  of  the 
Junta's  offices;  there  were  no  war  maps  on  the  walls,  no 
stands  of  arms  nor  recruiting  officers  in  evidence — not 
even  a  hint  of  intrigue  or  conspiracy.  The  place  was 
rather  meanly  furnished,  and  it  was  disappointingly  com 
monplace.  A  business-like  young  man  inquired  O'Reilly's 
errand. 

Johnnie  made  known  a  part  of  it,  and  then  asked  to  see 
some  one  in  authority.  In  consequence,  perhaps,  of  his 
Irish  smile  or  of  that  persuasiveness  which  he  could  render 
almost  irresistible  when  he  willed,  it  was  not  long  before 
he  gained  admittance  to  the  presence  of  Mr.  Enriquez,  a 
distinguished,  scholarly  Cuban  of  middle  age. 

"You  say  you  have  important  business  with  me?"  the 
latter  inquired,  speaking  with  an  accent  of  refinement. 

O'Reilly  plunged  boldly  into  the  heart  of  the  matter 
which  had  brought  him  thither.  When  he  had  finished  his 
tale  Mr.  Enriquez  inquired: 

"But  how  do  you  expect  me  to  help  you?" 

"I  want  your  advice  more  than  your  help,  although  you 
might  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Colonel  Lopez." 

Enriquez  eyed  his  caller  keenly.  "That  information 
would  be  very  well  worth  having,"  said  he.  "But,  you 
understand,  we  know  little  about  what  is  going  on  in 
Cuba — far  less  than  the  Spaniards  themselves.  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  help  you." 

"You  don't  take  me  for  a  spy,  do  you?"  Johnnie  asked, 
with  his  friendly  grin. 

"Ah!  You  don't  look  like  one,  but  we  never  know 
whom  to  trust.  This  young  lady  in  whom  you  are  inter 
ested,  who  is  she?" 

77 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Her  name  is  Varona;  Miss  Rosa  Varona." 

"So?"  Enriquez  raised  his  brows.  "Not  by  any 
chance  the  heiress  to  that  famous  Varona  treasure?" 

"Exactly! — if  there  is  such  a  thing."  There  ensued 
a  pause  while  the  Cuban  drummed  softly  upon  his  desk 
with  his  finger-tips.  "Her  brother  Este"ban  told  me  that 
he  was  working  for  your  cause.  I  warned  him  to  be  care 
ful,  but — "  O'Reilly's  voice  grew  suddenly  husky. 
"Here!  Read  this.  I  want  you  to  believe  me."  Rev 
erently  he  laid  Rosa's  letter  before  her  countryman. 
"I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  showing  my  letters  to  strangers, 
but — I  guess  that  '11  convince  you  I'm  not  a  spy." 

He  sat  silently  while  the  letter  was  being  read;  nor 
was  he  disappointed  in  the  result.  Mr.  Enriquez  raised 
dark,  compassionate  eyes  to  his,  saying: 

"This  is  a  touching  letter,  sir.  I  thank  you  for  allow 
ing  me  to  see  it.  No,  I  don't  doubt  you  now.  Poor 
Cuba!  Her  sons  must  be  brave,  her  daughters  patient." 

"Well!  You  understand  why  I  must  go  quickly,  and 
why  I  can't  chance  delay  by  going  either  to  Matanzas  or 
to  Havana.  I  want  to  land  somewhere  farther  east,  and 
I  want  you  to  help  me  to  find  Colonel  Lopez." 

Mr.  Enriquez  frowned  thoughtfully.  "What  I  just 
told  you  is  literally  true,"  he  said  at  last.  "We  work  in 
the  dark  up  here,  and  we  don't  know  the  whereabouts  of 
our  troops.  We  are  suspicious  of  strangers,  too,  as  we 
have  reason  to  be.  But— I  have  a  thought."  He  excused 
himself  and  left  the  room.  When  he  returned  he  ex 
plained:  "I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that  we  are  watched 
all  the  time,  and  that  for  us  to  assist  you  openly  would 
be  liable  to  defeat  your  purpose.  But  I  have  just  tele 
phoned  to  a  man  I  can  trust,  and  I  have  told  him  your 
story.  He  has  relatives  in  Cuba  and  he  agrees  to  help 
you  if  he  can.  His  name  is  Alvarado."  Writing  an  ad 
dress  upon  a  card,  he  handed  it  to  O'Reilly.  "Go  to 
him,  tell  him  what  you  have  told  me,  and  do  as  he  directs. 

78 


THE  QUEST   BEGINS 

Another  thing,  don't  return  here  unless  it  is  necessary; 
otherwise  when  you  land  in  Cuba  you  may  have  cause 
to  regret  it."  Mr.  Enriquez  extended  his  hand,  and  when 
O'Reilly  tried  to  thank  him  he  shook  his  head.  ''It  is 
nothing.  I  wish  you  success,  but — I  fear  you  have 
tackled  a  big  proposition." 

Dr.  Alvarado,  a  high  type  of  the  Cuban  professional 
man,  was  expecting  O'Reilly.  He  listened  patiently  to 
his  caller's  somewhat  breathless  recital. 

"You  do  well  to  avoid  the  cities  where  you  are  known," 
he  agreed.  "It  would  be  madness,  under  the  circum 
stances,  even  to  be  seen  in  Matanzas:  those  enemies  of — 
your  friends — would  have  you  deported.  But  just  how  to 
reach  the  Insurrectos — " 

"  If  you'd  merely  give  me  a  letter  saying  I'm  a  friend — " 

The  doctor  promptly  negatived  this  suggestion.  ' '  Surely 
you  don't  think  it  can  be  done  as  easily  as  that?"  he  in 
quired.  "In  the  first  place,  wherever  you  land,  you  will 
be  watched  and  probably  searched.  Such  a  letter,  if 
discovered,  would  not  only  end  your  chances,  but  it  would 
bring  certain  disaster  upon  those  to  whom  it  was  written. 
I  have  no  right  to  jeopardize  the  lives  of  those  I  hold 
dear.  These  are  perilous  times  for  all  good  Cubans, 
Mr.  O'Reilly.  Enriquez  told  me  about  that  poor  girl. 
She  bears  a  famous  name  and — I  want  to  help  her." 
He  removed  his  glasses  and  wiped  them,  absent-mindedly. 
"There  are  three  Alvarados  living,"  he  resumed.  "My 
two  brothers,  T6mas  and  Ignacio,  reside  in  Cuba,  and  we 
all  work  for  the  cause  of  independence  in  our  own  ways. 
I  am  fortunately  situated,  but  they  are  surrounded  by 
dangers,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  be  extremely  careful  in 
communicating  with  them,  for  I  am  placing  their  lives  in 
your  hands  and — I  love  them  dearly." 

"  I  shall  do  exactly  as  you  say." 

"Very  well,  then!  Go  to  Neuvitas,  where  T6mas  lives 
— there  is  a  steamer  leaving  in  three  or  four  days,  and 

79 


RAINBOW'S    END 

you  can  arrange  passage  on  her.  He  is  a  dentist.  Meet 
him,  somehow,  and  make  yourself  known  by  repeating 
this  sentence:  ' I  come  from  Felipe.  He  told  me  how  you 
whipped  him  to  keep  him  from  going  to  the  Ten  Years' 
War!'  That  will  be  enough;  he  will  ask  you  who  you 
are  and  what  you  want." 

"I  see.    It's  a  sort  of  password." 

"No.  I've  never  had  reason  to  communicate  with  him 
in  this  way."  Noting  the  bewilderment  in  O'Reilly's 
face,  Alvarado  smiled.  "You  won't  need  to  say  anything 
more.  No  living  soul,  except  Tomas  and  I,  knows  that 
he  thrashed  me,  but  it  is  true.  I  was  young,  I  wanted  to 
go  to  the  war,  but  he  took  it  out  of  me  with  a  bamboo. 
Later  we  bound  ourselves  never  to  mention  it.  He  will 
understand  from  the  message  that  I  trust  you,  and  he 
will  help  you  to  reach  the  rebels,  if  such  a  thing  is  possible. 
But  tell  me,  when  you  have  found  Miss  Varona,  what 
then?" 

"Why,  I'll  bring  her  out." 

"How?  Do  you  think  you  can  walk  into  any  seaport 
and  take  ship?  You  will  be  tagged  and  numbered  by  the 
authorities.  Once  you  disappear  into  the  manigua,  you 
will  be  a  marked  man." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  many  her  right  there.  I'm  an  Amer 
ican  citizen — " 

"  Don't  build  too  much  on  that  fact,  either,"  the  doctor 
warned.  "Spanish  jails  are  strong,  and  your  country  has 
never  compelled  that  respect  for  its  nationals  which  other 
countries  insist  upon." 

"Perhaps!  But  the  first  thing  is  to  find  Miss  Varona 
and  learn  that  she's  safe.  I  don't  much  care  what  hap 
pens  after  that." 

Alvarado  nodded  and  smiled.  "Good!  What  would 
this  world  be  without  sentiment  ?  It  loves  a  lover.  I  like 
your  spirit  and  I  hope  soon  to  have  the  pleasure  of  again 
seeing  you  and  meeting  your — wife." 

80 


THE   QUEST    BEGINS 

O'Reilly  flushed  and  stammered,  whereupon  the  good 
Cuban  patted  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Come  and  see  me 
when  you  get  back,  and  bring  me  news  of  Tomas.  Now, 
adios,  compadre." 

"Adios,  senor!    I  am  deeply  grateful!" 

O'Reilly  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  passage  direct 
to  Neuvitas  on  the  English  steamer  Dunham  Castle,  and  a 
few  days  later  he  saw  the  Atlantic  Highlands  dissolve  into 
the  mists  of  a  winter  afternoon  as  the  ship  headed  out 
ward  into  a  nasty  running  sea. 

It  proved  to  be  a  wretched  trip.  Off  Hatteras  the 
Dunham  Castle  labored  heavily  for  twelve  hours,  and  bad 
weather  followed  her  clear  into  the  old  Bahama  Channel. 
Not  until  she  had  thrust  her  nose  into  the  narrow  entrance  of 
Neuvitas  harbor  did  she  wholly  cease  her  seasick  plunging, 
but  then  the  weather  changed  with  bewildering  suddenness. 

Cuba,  when  it  came  fairly  into  sight,  lay  bathed  in 
golden  sunshine,  all  warmth  and  welcome,  like  a  bride 
upon  an  azure  couch.  The  moist  breath  from  her  fragrant 
shores  swept  over  the  steamer's  decks  and  Johnnie 
O'Reilly  sniffed  it  joyfully. 

He  had  brought  little  luggage  with  him,  only  an  extra 
suit  of  khaki,  a  few  toilet  articles,  and  a  Colt's  revolver, 
the  companion  of  his  earlier  Cuban  days.  He  was  holding 
the  weapon  in  his  hand,  debating  how  and  where  to  con 
ceal  it,  when  the  first  officer  paused  in  the  state-room 
door  and,  spying  it,  exclaimed: 

"Hello!    Smuggling  arms  to  the  Insurrectos,  eh?" 

O'Reilly  laughed.  "It's  an  old  friend.  I  don't  know 
just  what  to  do  with  it." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  the  mate  volunteered.  "Lead  your  old 
friend  out  here  to  the  rail,  shake  hands  with  him,  and  drop 
him  overboard  before  he  gets  you  into  trouble." 

"Really?" 

"I  mean  it.  They  won't  let  you  land  with  that  hard 
ware.  Take  my  tip." 

81 


RAINBOW'S    END 

But  Johnnie  hesitated.  Though  his  intentions  were  far 
from  warlike,  he  could  not  bring  himself,  in  view  of  his 
secret  plans,  to  part  with  his  only  weapon.  He  examined 
his  extra  pair  of  khaki  trousers,  and  discovering  a  con 
siderable  surplus  of  cloth  at  each  inside  seam,  he  took 
needle  and  thread  and  managed  to  sew  the  gun  in  so  that 
it  hung  close  against  the  inside  of  his  right  leg  when 
he  donned  the  garment.  It  felt  queer  and  uncomfort 
able,  but  it  did  not  appear  to  be  noticeable  so  long  as 
he  stood  upright.  With  some  pride  in  his  stratagem, 
he  laid  off  his  winter  suit  and  changed  into  lighter 
clothing. 

Neuvitas  was  scorching  under  a  midday  sun  when  he 
came  on  deck.  Its  low,  square  houses  were  glaring  white; 
here  and  there  a  splotch  of  vivid  Cuban  blue  stood  out; 
the  rickety,  worm-eaten  piling  of  its  water-front  resembled 
rows  of  rotten,  snaggly  teeth  smiling  out  of  a  chalky  face 
mottled  with  unhealthy,  artificial  spots  of  color.  Gusts 
of  wind  from  the  shore  brought  feverish  odors,  as  if  the 
city  were  sick  and  exhaled  a  tainted  breath.  But  beyond, 
the  hills  were  clean  and  green,  the  fields  were  rich  and 
ripe.  That  was  the  Cuba  which  O'Reilly  knew. 

A  Spanish  transport,  close  by,  was  languidly  discharging 
uniformed  troops;  lighters  of  military  supplies  were  being 
unloaded;  the  sound  of  a  bugle  floated  from  the  shore. 
Moored  to  the  docks  or  anchored  in  the  harbor  were 
several  shallow-draught  "tin-clad"  coast-patrol  craft  from 
the  staffs  of  which  streamed  the  red  and  yellow  bars  of 
Spain. 

Although  there  were  but  a  few  passengers  on  the  Dun 
ham  Castle,  they  were  subjected  to  a  long  delay  during 
which  suspicious  customs  men  searched  their  baggage  and 
questioned  them.  Finally,  however,  O'Reilly  found  him 
self  free  to  go  ashore.  He  had  passed  the  ordeal  handily, 
and  now  he  was  eager  to  reach  some  lodging-place  where 
he  could  remove  that  revolver  which  knocked  against  his 

82 


THE   QUEST    BEGINS 

leg  so  awkwardly  at  every  step.  Once  on  the  dock,  he 
gave  his  bag  to  a  negro  and  led  the  way  toward  the  street. 
At  the  last  moment,  however,  just  as  he  was  about  to 
plant  his  feet  upon  solid  earth,  he  was  halted  by  two  men 
who  rose  from  a  bench  where  they  had  been  idling.  They 
carried  the  tasseled  canes  of  the  Secret  Service,  and 
O'Reilly  felt  his  heart  jump. 

With  a  murmured  apology  one  of  them  relieved  the 
negro  of  the  valise  while  the  other  began  to  search  O'Reil 
ly's  person  for  concealed  weapons.  He  began  at  Johnnie's 
shoulders  and  patted  one  pocket  after  another,  "fanning" 
him  in  the  fashion  approved  of  policemen.  Now,  too  late, 
the  American  regretted  his  refusal  to  heed  the  mate's 
warning.  It  seemed  certain  that  he  was  in  for  trouble, 
but  he  drew  his  heels  together  and  stood  with  the  revolver 
pressed  between  his  legs,  praying  that  those  exploratory 
palms  would  not  encounter  it.  When  the  officer  had 
slapped  every  pocket,  ending  at  the  hips,  he  nodded;  his 
companion  snapped  shut  the  valise,  and  handed  it  back 
to  the  porter. 

O'Reilly  paused  a  moment  or  two  later  to  wipe  the 
abundant  perspiration  from  his  face;  even  yet  his  pulse 
was  pounding  erratically.  He  hoped  the  future  held  no 
more  surprises  of  this  sort,  for  he  feared  that  his  nerve 
might  fail  him. 

El  Gran  Hotel  Europea,  Neuvitas's  leading  hostelry,  be 
lied  its  name.  It  was  far  from  large,  and  certainly  it  was 
anything  but  European,  except,  perhaps,  in  its  proprietor's 
extravagant  and  un-American  desire  to  please,  at  any  cost. 
The  building  was  old  and  dirty,  the  open  cafe",  fronting 
upon  the  sidewalk  of  the  main  street,  was  full  of  flies, 
and  dust  from  the  unclean  roadway  lay  thick  upon  its 
stone-topped  tables;  moreover,  a  recognizable  odor  of 
decay  issued  from  the  patio — or  perhaps  from  the  kitchen 
behind  it.  After  O'Reilly's  first  meal  he  was  sure  it  came 
from  the  latter  place;  even  suspected  that  the  odor 

83 


RAINBOW'S    END 

flattered  actual  conditions.  But  it  was  the  best  hotel 
the  place  afforded,  and  Senor  Carbajal  was  the  most  at 
tentive  of  hosts. 

He  was  a  globular,  unctuous  little  man,  this  Carbajal; 
he  reminded  O'Reilly  of  a  drop  of  oil.  He  evinced  an 
unusual  interest  in  the  affairs  of  his  American  guest,  and 
soon  developed  a  habit  of  popping  into  the  latter's  room 
at  unexpected  moments,  ostensibly  to  see  that  all  was  as 
it  should  be.  Now  there  was  very  little  in  the  room  to 
need  attention — only  a  bed  with  a  cheese-cloth  mosquito- 
net,  a  wash-stand,  and  a  towering,  smelly  clothes-press 
of  Spanish  architecture,  which  looked  as  if  it  might  have 
a  dark  and  sinister  history.  When,  for  the  third  time,  he 
appeared  without  knocking,  O'Reilly  suspected  some 
thing. 

"You  have  everything,  eh?"  Mr.  Carbajal  teetered 
upon  the  balls  of  his  feet  while  his  small  black  eyes  roved 
inquisitively. 

"Everything  in  abundance." 

"There  is  water,  eh?"  The  proprietor  peered  dutifully 
into  the  pitcher,  incidentally  taking  stock  of  O'Reilly's 
toilet  articles. 

"A  veritable  ocean  of  it." 

4 '  One  never  knows.  These  servants  are  so  lazy.  But — 
your  other  baggage,  your  trunk?" 

"I  have  no  trunk." 

"So?    I  took  you  to  be  a  great  traveler." 

"lam." 

"Selling  goods,  eh?" 

"No." 

"Indeed?  Then  you  are  a  pleasure  traveler?  You  see 
the  sights,  is  that  it?  Well,  Cuba  is  beautiful." 

"Most  beautiful,  judging  from  what  I  have  seen." 

Mr.  Carbajal  wagged  a  pudgy  forefinger  at  his  guest. 
"Tut!  Tut!  You  know  Cuba.  You  speak  the  language 
better  than  a  native.  You  can't  fool  me,  sly  one!"  He 

84 


THE   QUEST    BEGINS 

wrinkled  his  face  and  winked  both  eyes.  It  was  an  invita 
tion  to  further  confidence,  and  he  was  disappointed  when 
it  passed  unnoticed.  "Well,  you  Americans  are  a  brave 
people,"  he  continued,  with  an  obvious  effort  to  keep  the 
conversation  going.  "You  like  to  be  where  the  fighting 
is." 

"Not  I.     I'm  a  timid  man." 

"Ho!  Ha!  Ha!"  the  proprietor  cackled.  Then  he 
became  pensive.  "There  is  nothing  here  at  Neuvitas  to 
interest  a  tourist — except  the  war." 

"I'm  not  a  tourist." 

"Indeed?  Now  that  is  interesting."  Mr.  Carbajal 
seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  where  he  could 
look  into  O'Reilly's  traveling-bag.  "Not  a  tourist,  not  a 
traveling-man.  Now  what  could  possibly  bring  you  to 
Cuba?" 

O'Reilly  eyed  his  inquisitor  gravely;  a  subtle  melan 
choly  darkened  his  agreeable  countenance.  "I  travel  for 
my  health,"  said  he. 

"You —  Health — !"  Carbajal's  frame  began  to  heave ; 
his  bulging  abdomen  oscillated  as  if  shaken  by  some  hid 
den  hand.  ' '  Good !  Ha !  There's  another  joke  for  you. ' ' 

"I'm  a  sick  man,"  O'Reilly  insisted,  hollowly. 

"From  what  malady  do  you  suffer?"  inquired  the  hotel- 
keeper. 

"Rheumatism." 

"Rheumatism?  That  is  no  more  than  a  pain  in  the 
joints,  a  stiffness — " 

"There!  I  knew  it!"  O'Reilly  exclaimed  in  triumph. 
Rising,  he  seized  his  host's  moist  hands  and  shook  them 
violently.  "You  give  me  courage!  You  make  a  new 
man  of  me.  These  doctors  enjoy  a  fellow's  agony; 
they'd  like  to  bury  him.  They'd  never  recommend  this 
climate.  No!  'Pain  in  the  joints,'  you  say,  'stiffness.' 
That  proves  the  abominable  affliction  is  practically  un 
known  here.  I  thank  you,  sir." 

85 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"You  don't  look  sick,"  mumbled  Carbajal.  "Not  like 
the  other  American." 

"What  other  American?" 

"A  peculiar  fellow.  He  went  on  to  Puerto  Principe. 
What  a  cough!  And  he  was  as  thin  as  a  wire.  He  bled 
at  the  mouth,  too,  all  the  time,  when  he  was  not  reviling 
my  hotel.  You'll  see  him  if  you  go  there,  provided  he 
hasn't  come  apart  with  his  coughing.  I  believe  he  writes 
for  newspapers.  Well,  it  is  my  pleasure  to  serve  you. 
Command  me  at  any  hour."  Mr.  Carbajal  rose  reluc 
tantly  and  went  wheezing  down-stairs  to  his  grimy  tables 
and  the  flies. 

O'Reilly  was  not  in  the  least  deceived;  it  was  plain  to 
him  that  the  hotel  man  was  in  close  touch  with  the 
Spanish  authorities,  and  he  began  to  feel  the  need  of  some 
better  excuse,  some  valid  business  reason,  for  being  here, 
such  as  would  allay  suspicion  once  for  all.  But  he  could 
think  of  nothing  better  than  his  rheumatism,  and  to  that 
he  determined  to  cling. 


VII 

THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  KNOW   LIFE 

T  ATER  that  day  O'Reilly  set  out  to  reconnoiter  the 
JLrf  city  of  Neuvitas.  He  was  followed,  of  course — he 
had  expected  as  much,  and  the  circumstances  amused 
rather  than  alarmed  him.  But  when  he  returned  to  his 
hotel  and  found  that  his  room  had  been  visited  during  his 
absence  he  felt  a  hint  of  uneasiness.  Evidently,  as  Doctor 
Alvarado  had  forecast,  the  authorities  were  interested  in 
him;  and  he  had  further  evidence  of  the  fact  when  he 
learned  that  the  room  next  him  was  occupied  by  the  very 
man  who  had  shadowed  him  on  the  street.  Inasmuch  as 
the  intervening  wall  was  no  more  than  a  thin  partition, 
through  which  his  very  breathing  could  be  heard,  while 
his  every  movement  could  doubtless  be  spied  upon, 
O'Reilly  saw  the  need  of  caution,  and  he  began  to  cast 
about  for  a  place  to  hide  that  Colt's  revolver,  the  presence 
of  which  was  assuming  the  proportions  of  a  menace. 
Now  that  his  belongings  had  been  examined  three  times 
that  day,  the  next  step  would  probably  be  another  search 
of  his  person.  Unless  in  the  mean  time  he  could  definitely 
establish  his  innocence  of  purpose,  which  was  unlikely, 
it  behooved  him  to  rid  himself  of  the  weapon  without  delay. 
This,  however,  was  a  problem.  He  could  not  bring  him 
self  to  throw  the  thing  away,  and  his  bare  bedroom  offered 
no  place  of  concealment.  Late  that  evening  he  called 
Mr.  Carbajal  and  asked  him  if  it  were  possible  to  take  a 
bath. 

87 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Mr.  Carbajal  assured  him  that  it  was.  El  Gran  Hotel 
Europea  was  first  class  in  every  respect;  no  expense  had 
been  spared  in  its  equipment.  Senor  O'Rail-ye  had 
indeed  done  well  in  patronizing  it,  for  it  boasted  the  best 
cuarto  de  bano  in  the  whole  city — a  room,  moreover,  which 
was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  purposes  of  bathing.  And 
it  was  a  large  room — large  enough  to  accommodate  a 
dozen  guests  at  once.  To  be  sure,  it  would  require,  say, 
half  an  hour  to  make  it  ready,  for  it  was  stored  with  hay 
for  the  horses  which  drew  the  'bus  to  and  from  the  depot, 
but  if  the  senor  would  have  patience  it  could  soon  be 
restored  to  its  original  purpose.  Mr.  Carbajal  himself 
would  see  that  there  was  a  river  of  hot  water. 

O'Reilly  thanked  him.  An  hour  later  he  paraded,  bare 
foot,  down  the  hall,  wrapped  in  a  blanket.  He  had  pur 
posely  left  his  clothes  behind  him,  and  the  door  of  his. 
room  unlocked,  but  under  his  naked  left  arm  he  carried 
the  revolver. 

He  was  a  long  time  in  his  bath.  When  he  returned 
to  his  chamber  he  found  his  garments  very  nearly 
as  he  had  left  them.  He  smiled  as  he  crept  into  bed 
and  tucked  the  netting  under  his  thin  mattress.  They 
could  search  him  now,  whenever  they  pleased,  for  the 
revolver  and  its  box  of  precious  cartridges  reposed  on  a 
duty  beam  over  the  bathroom,  where  no  one  would  ever 
think  of  looking. 

During  breakfast,  and  afterward  throughout  an  aim 
less  morning  stroll,  O'Reilly  felt  watchful  eyes  upon  him. 
When  he  returned  to  his  hotel  he  found  Mr.  Carbajal  in 
the  cafe*  concocting  rejrescos  for  some  military  officers,  who 
scanned  the  American  with  bold,  hostile  glances.  O'Reilly 
complained  to  the  proprietor  of  a  toothache. 

At  once  Mr.  Carbajal  was  sympathetic;  he  was  also 
admonitory,  blaming  the  affliction  upon  that  bath  of  the 
previous  evening.  Excessive  bathing,  he  declared,  was 
injurious,  particularly  in  the  winter  season;  it  opened 

88 


THE    MAN  WHO  WOULD    KNOW  LIFE 

one's  pores,  and  it  dried  one's  skin  and  rendered  one 
liable  to  the  attacks  of  every  disease.  Heat?  Perspira 
tion?  Was  it  wise  to  resort  to  unnatural  and  artificial 
means  in  order  to  rid  oneself  of  a  trifling  annoyance? 
If  perspiration  were  injurious,  nature  would  not  have 
provided  it.  In  fact,  it  was  nature's  method  of  keeping 
the  body  clean,  and  if  people  were  unreasonably  fastidious 
about  such  things  a  little  cologne  would  render  them  even 
more  agreeable  to  the  senses  than  any  number  of  baths. 
That  was  the  purpose  of  cologne.  This  habit  of  bathing 
at  fixed  intervals  of  a  week  or  two,  regardjess  of  conditions, 
might  be,  and  probably  was,  responsible  for  all  of  O'Reil 
ly's  rheumatism.  Mr.  Carbajal,  for  one,  knew  better 
than  to  overdo  the  thing.  He  had  never  suffered  an  ache 
or  a  pain  in  his  life  and  his  teeth  were  perfectly  sound,  as 
he  demonstrated  by  beating  vigorously  upon  them  with 
his  mixing-spoon. 

O'Reilly  was  impressed  by  this  argument,  he  acknowl 
edged,  but  unfortunately  it  did  not  remedy  the  pain 
which  was  killing  him.  During  the  hottest  part  of  the 
day,  when  he  knew  the  town  would  be  asleep,  he  reap 
peared  in  the  cafe",  his  cheek  in  his  hand.  He  declared 
that  something  had  to  be  done,  at  once,  and  inquired  the 
name  and  address  of  the  best  local  dentist. 

Mr.  Carbajal  named  several,  among  them  Dr.  T6mas 
Alvarado,  whereupon  his  guest  hurried  away,  followed  at 
a  respectful  distance  by  the  secret  agent. 

Finding  Doctor  Alvarado's  office  was  closed,  as  he  had 
anticipated,  O'Reilly  proceeded  to  the  doctor's  residence. 
There  was  some  delay  when  he  rang  the  bell,  but  eventu 
ally  the  dentist  himself  appeared.  O'Reilly  recognized 
him  from  his  resemblance  to  his  brother.  He  addressed 
him  in  English. 

" I  come  from  Felipe,"  he  began.  "He  well  remembers 
the  day  you  whipped  him  to  keep  him  from  going  to  the 
Ten  Years'  War." 

7  89 


RAINBOW'S    END 

The  languor  of  Doctor  Alvarado's  siesta  vanished. 
He  started,  his  eyes  widened. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  muttered. 

"My  name  is  O'Reilly.  I  am  an  American,  a  friend, 
so  don't  be  alarmed.  The  man  you  see  approaching  is 
following  me,  but  he  thinks  I  have  come  to  you  with  a 
toothache." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  your  help  in  joining  the  Insurrectos." 

By  this  time  the  detective  had  come  within  earshot. 
Ma-king  an  effort  at  self-possession,  the  dentist  said:  "Very 
well.  I  will  meet  you  at  my  office  hi  a  half -hour  and  see 
what  can  be  done."  Then  he  bowed. 

O'Reilly  raised  his  hat  and  turned  away. 

Doctor  Alvarado's  dentist's  chair  faced  a  full-length 
window,  one  of  several  which,  after  the  Cuban  fashion, 
opened  directly  upon  the  sidewalk,  rendering  both  the 
waiting-room  and  the  office  almost  as  public  as  the 
street  itself.  Every  one  of  these  windows  was  wide 
open  when  Johnnie  arrived;  but  it  seemed  that  the  den 
tist  knew  what  he  was  about,  for  when  his  patient  had 
taken  his  seat  and  he  had  begun  an  examination  of  the 
troublesome  tooth,  he  said,  under  his  breath: 

"I,  too,  am  watched.  Talk  to  me  in  English.  When 
I  press,  thus,  upon  your  gum,  you  will  know  that  some 
one  is  passing.  Now  then,  what  is  the  meaning  of  your 
amazing  message  from  Felipe?" 

While  Doctor  Alvarado  pretended  to  treat  a  perfectly 
sound  molar,  Johnnie  managed,  despite  frequent  inter 
ruptions,  to  make  known  the  reason  and  circumstances 
of  his  presence. 

"But  there  are  no  rebels  around  here,"  Alvarado  told 
him.  "You  could  escape  to  the  country,  perhaps,  but 
what  then?  Where  would  you  go?  How  would  they 
know  who  you  are?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  find  out." 

90 


THE   MAN  WHO  WOULD    KNOW  LIFE 

The  Cuban  pondered.  "You'll  have  to  go  to  Puerto 
Principe,"  he  said,  at  length.  "Our  men  are  operating 
in  that  neighborhood,  and  my  brother  Ignacio  will  know 
how  to  reach  them.  I'll  give  you  a  message  to  him, 
similar  to  the  one  you  brought  me  from  Felipe."  Then 
he  smiled.  "  I've  just  thought  of  the  very  thing.  Years 
ago  I  lent  him  a  book  which  I  particularly  prized,  and 
one  of  his  children  damaged  it.  I  was  furious.  I  de 
clared  I  would  never  lend  him  another,  and  I  never  have. 
Now  then,  I'll  give  you  that  very  volume;  hand  it  to 
him  and  say  that  I  asked  you  to  return  it  to  him.  I'd  like 
to  see  his  face  when  he  receives  it." 

O'Reilly  thanked  him,  promising  to  use  every  precau 
tion  in  delivering  the  message.  The  very  care  necessary 
in  communicating  between  brother  and  brother  made  him 
realize  more  clearly  than  hitherto  that  he  was  among 
enemies. 

The  next  morning  he  paid  Carbajal's  score  and  took 
the  train  to  the  interior.  In  his  bag  was  T6mas  Alvarado's 
precious  volume,  and  in  the  same  coach  with  him  rode  the 
Secret  Service  man. 

In  its  general  features  Puerto  Principe  differed  little 
from  the  other  Cuban  cities  O'Reilly  knew.  It  was  com 
pactly  built,  it  was  very  old  and  it  looked  its  centuries. 
Its  streets  were  particularly  narrow  and  crooked,  having 
been  purposely  laid  out  in  labyrinthian  mazes,  so  the  story 
goes,  in  order  to  fool  the  pirates.  In  some  ways  it  was 
quaint  and  unusual.  For  instance,  here  and  there  were 
queer  tinajones,  vast  venerable  earthen  jars  for  holding 
rain-water,  each  inscribed  with  the  date  when  it  left  the 
potter's  wheel;  then,  too,  there  was  a  remarkable  number 
of  churches — massive  structures,  grayed  by  time — and  in 
the  northern  distance,  blue  against  the  sky,  O'Reilly 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  Cubitas  range,  where  he  knew  the 
Insurrectos  were  in  camp.  That  was  his  goal:  it  seemed 
almost  within  his  grasp.  He  was  tempted  to  abandon 


RAINBOW'S    END 

caution  and  make  a  dash  for  it,  until  he  discovered  that 
the  city  was  well  guarded.  One  needed  a  pass  to  enter 
or  to  leave  Puerto  Principe,  and,  moreover,  the  city  had 
no  suburbs,  no  scattered  residences  outside  its  boundaries: 
when  one  came  to  the  end  of  a  street  one  found  oneself 
in  an  open  field  faced  by  a  barbed-wire  barrier,  and  on 
every  road  leading  from  the  town  stood  a  fortina,  a  little 
fort  of  brick  or  logs,  in  which  were  stationed  Spanish 
soldiers.  The  streets  were  alive  with  uniformed  men, 
patrols  were  everywhere,  and  martial  law  prevailed.  For 
the  first  time  O'Reilly  began  to  perceive  the  strength  of 
that  mailed  hand  which  held  the  island  so  tightly.  Judg 
ing  from  the  preparations  here,  one  must  conclude  that 
Spain  had  no  intention  of  relinquishing  her  last  New 
World  possession. 

After  a  stroll  through  the  city,  during  which  he  care 
fully  used  his  eyes,  Johnnie  asked  himself  how  the  ill- 
drilled,  ill-equipped,  loosely  organized  Insurrectos  could 
hope  to  overthrow  so  solid  a  power  as  this,  backed  as  it 
seemed  to  be  by  unlimited  means  and  unlimited  armies 
of  trained  troops.  It  looked  like  a  hopeless  undertaking. 
No  seaport,  no  city,  scarcely  a  hamlet,  in  fact,  so  far  as 
O'Reilly  knew,  was  held  by  the  rebels;  they  lurked  in  the 
woods  or  rode  the  savannas  in  ragged  bands,  here  to-day, 
there  to-morrow.  To  aid  or  comfort  them  was  treason. 
They  appeared  out  of  the  jungles  at  unexpected  moments ; 
they  faded  like  the  mists  of  the  dawn.  Theirs  was  an 
apparitional  warfare,  and  even  their  biggest  victories 
were  signals  for  retreat.  How  could  they  think  to  win? 

It  seemed  impossible  that  such  resistance  as  they 
offered  could  wear  down  and  conquer  the  resources  of 
Spain,  yet  the  very  numbers  and  alertness  of  the  Spanish 
troops  argued  a  somewhat  formidable  opposition.  Did 
it  not  also  argue  an  all-pervading  restlessness  which 
might  some  day  escape  control?  O'Reilly,  of  course,  had 
no  part  in  this  quarrel:  but  it  struck  him  as  a  wicked  waste 

92 


THE    MAN   WHO  WOULD    KNOW  LIFE 

to  destroy,  to  ravage,  and  to  slay  when  settlement  was  so 
easy.  The  motive  behind  this  prodigal  extravagance  of 
blood  and  gold  was  nothing  but  foolish  resistance  of  a 
principle.  A  little  yielding,  a  little  diminution  of  harsh 
ness,  a  little  compassion  on  the  part  of  the  mother  country, 
and  these  men  who  were  killing  one  another  would  embrace 
and  proclaim  their  blood  brotherhood. 

Pondering  such  thoughts  as  these,  O'Reilly  returned 
to  his  hotel.  As  he  sat  in  the  cafe",  sipping  an  orangeade, 
he  heard  some  one  speaking  in  atrocious  Spanish,  and 
looked  up  to  see  that  another  American  had  entered. 
The  stranger  was  a  tall,  funereal  young  man,  with  pallid 
cheeks  and  hollow,  burning  eyes:  he  was  asking  for  ice- 
water,  but  what  he  said  resembled  anything  except  the 
language  of  the  country. 

"Hey,  George!"  he  cried.  "Try  gimme  a  vasso  of 
agwa  con  yellow."  He  pronounced  the  words  with 
elaborate  pains.  "Make  it  a  long  one." 

A  waiter  eyed  him  tolerantly,  but  with  no  faintest  sign 
of  understanding. 

"Agwa  con  yellow — agwa  with  ice.  Ice!  ICE!"  the 
man  repeated  loudly.  Still  failing  of  a  response,  he 
shouted,  "Don't  you  know  what  'ice'  is?"  He  wrapped 
his  long,  lean  arms  about  himself  and  shivered.  "Cold! 
Icie!  Freezum!  Br-r-r!  Savvy?" 

Inspiration  came  to  the  waiter;  a  smile  irradiated  his 
countenance,  and  with  a  murmured  apology  for  his  stu 
pidity  he  hurried  away. 

O'Reilly  stepped  over  to  the  stranger's  table  and  in 
troduced  himself.  "The  hotel-keeper  in  Neuvitas  told 
me  I'd  find  you  here,"  he  said.  "Your  name  is — " 

"Branch;  Leslie  Branch.  So  Carbajal  said  you'd  find 
me  here,  eh?  Oh,  the  greasy  little  liar.  He  didn't  be 
lieve  it.  He  thought  his  cooking  would  have  killed  me, 
long  ago,  and  it  nearly  did."  This  time  Mr.  Branch's 
bony  frame  underwent  a  genuine  shudder  and  his  face 

93 


RAINBOW'S    END 

was  convulsed  with  loathing.  "Did  you  try  his  butter? 
'Made  in  Denmark'  during  the  early  Victorian  period. 
I  hate  antiques — can't  eat  anything  oily.  Carbajal's  in 
the  Secret  Service.  Nice  fat  little  spy. ' ' 

"So  I  suspected." 

Mr.  Branch's  beverage  appeared  at  this  moment. 
With  a  flourish  the  waiter  placed  a  small  glass  and  a 
bottle  of  dark  liquid  before  him.  Branch  stared  at  it, 
then  rolled  a  fiercely  smoldering  eye  upward. 

"What's  that?"  he  inquired. 

O'Reilly  read  the  label.     "It's  bitters,"  said  he. 

"Bitters!  And  I  asked  for  'yellow' — a  glass  of  agwa 
with  yellow."  Branch's  voice  shook.  "I'm  dying  of  a 
fever,  and  this  ivory-billed  toucan  brings  me  a  quart  of 
poison.  Bullets!"  It  was  impossible  to  describe  the  sug 
gestion  of  profanity  with  which  the  speaker  colored  this 
innocuous  expletive.  "Weak  as  I  am,  I  shall  gnaw  his 
windpipe."  He  bared  his  teeth  suggestively  and  raised 
two  talon-like  hands. 

The  waiter  was  puzzled,  but  not  alarmed.  He  em 
braced  himself  as  his  customer  had  done,  and  shud 
dered;  then  pointing  at  the  bitters,  he  nodded  encour 
agingly. 

O'Reilly  forestalled  an  outburst  by  translating  his 
countryman's  wants.  "Un  vaso  de  agua  con  hielo,"  said 
he,  and  the  attendant  was  all  apologies. 

"So,  you  speak  the  lingo?"  marveled  Mr.  Branch. 
"Well,  I  can't  get  the  hang  of  it.  Don't  like  it.  Don't 
like  anything  Spanish.  Hell  of  a  country,  isn't  it? 
where  the  ice  is  'yellow'  and  the  butter  is  'meant  to  kill  you,' 
and  does." 

O'Reilly  laughed.  "You've  been  studying  a  guide 
book,  'with  complete  glossary  of  Spanish  phrases.'  By 
the  way,  Carbajal  said  you  are  a  writer." 

Mr.  Branch  nodded  listlessly.  "I'm  supposed  to  re 
port  this  insurrection,  but  the  Spaniards  won't  let  me. 

94 


THE    MAN  WHO  WOULD    KNOW  LIFE 

They  edit  my  stuff  to  suit  themselves.  I'm  getting  tired 
of  the  farce."  . 

"Going  home?" 

"Don't  dare."  The  speaker  tapped  his  concave  chest. 
"Bum  lungs.  I  came  down  here  to  shuffle  off,  and  I'm 
waiting  for  it  to  happen.  What  brings  you  to  Cuba?" 

"I'm  here  for  my  health,  too."  The  real  invalid 
stared.  "I  have  rheumatism." 

"  Going  to  sweat  it  out,  eh  ?  Well,  there's  nothing  to  do 
but  sweat" — Branch  was  racked  by  a  coughing  spasm 
that  shook  his  reedy  frame — "sweat  and  cough.  Bullets! 
No  mistake  about  that  hospital  bark,  is  there?"  When 
he  had  regained  his  breath  he  said:  "See  here !  I'm  going 
to  take  a  chance  with  you,  for  I  like  your  looks.  My 
newspaper  work  is  a  bluff:  I  don't  send  enough  stuff  to 
keep  me  alive.  I  come  here  to  cure  my  lungs,  and — I 
want  you  to  help  me  do  it." 

O'Reilly  stared  at  the  man  in  surprise.  "How  can  I 
help  you?"  he  asked. 

"By  taking  me  with  you." 

"With  me?    Where?" 

"To  the  Insurrectos,  of  course." 

The  men  eyed  each  other  fixedly.  "What  makes  you 
think — "  O'Reilly  began. 

"Oh,  don't  say  it!  I've  got  a  hunch!  I  don't  know 
what  your  game  is — probably  dynamite:  there's  a  story 
that  the  rebels  have  sent  for  some  American  experts  to 
teach  them  how  to  use  the  stuff,  and  God  knows  they  need 
instruction!  Anyhow,  I  can't  swallow  that  rheumatism 
talk.  I  thought  you  might  give  me  a  lift.  Take  me  along, 
will  you?" 

"And  how  would  that  benefit  your  cough?"  Johnnie 
inquired,  curiously. 

Mr.  Branch  hesitated.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said, 
after  a  moment.  "I'm  afraid  to  die  this  way,  by  inches, 
and  hours.  I'm  scared  to  death."  It  seemed  impossible 

95 


RAINBOW'S    END 

that  the  sick  man's  cheeks  could  further  blanch,  but  they 
became  fairly  livid,  while  a  beading  of  moisture  appeared 
upon  his  upper  lip.  "God!  You've  no  idea  how  it  gets 
on  a  fellow's  nerves  to  see  himself  slipping — slipping. 
I'd  like  to  end  it  suddenly,  like  that!"  He  voiced  the 
last  sentence  abruptly  and  snapped  his  fingers.  "I've 
tried  to  bump  off,  but — no  courage!  Funny,  isn't  it? 
Well,  the  doctors  told  me  another  New  York  winter 
would  put  me  in  a  rosewood  show-case.  I've  tried  Colo 
rado  and  it's  no  good.  See?  So  I  decided  to  join  the 
Cubans  and — let  a  bullet  do  the  trick.  I  never  did  like 
the  Spaniards — their  cooking  is  too  greasy.  Then,  too, 
I'd  like  to  have  a  thrill  before  I  cash  in — taste  'the  salt  of 
life,'  as  somebody  expressed  it.  That's  war.  It's  the 
biggest  game  in  the  world.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
idea?" 

"Not  much,"  O'Reilly  said,  honestly. 

"Difference  in  temperament.  I  suppose  it  is  a  sick 
fancy,  but  I've  got  it.  Unfortunately,  now  that  I'm 
here,  these  Romeos  won't  let  me  get  out  of  town.  If 
you're  what  I  think  you  are,  give  me  a  hand.  I'm  a 
rotten  coward,  but  I'll  fight  if  the  Cubans  will  take  me." 

"Where  are  the  Cubans?" 

"  Oh,  they're  out  yonder  in  the  hills.  I  know  all  about 
'em.  Come  over  to  my  quarters,  and  I'll  show  you  a 
map,  if  you're  interested." 

"I  am,"  said  O'Reilly,  and,  rising,  he  followed  his  new 
acquaintance. 


VIII 

THE   SPANISH  DOUBLOON 

ON  the  whole,  Pancho  Cueto's  plans  had  worked 
smoothly.  After  denouncing  the  Varona  twins  as 
traitors  he  had  managed  to  have  himself  appointed  trustee 
for  the  crown,  for  all  their  properties,  consummation  for 
which  he  had  worked  from  the  moment  he  read  that  letter 
of  Este'ban's  on  the  morning  after  Dona  Isabel's  death. 
To  be  sure,  the  overseer  had  acquired  title,  of  a  sort,  to  the 
plantation  by  paying  the  taxes  over  a  period  of  years,  but 
it  was  the  quinta  itself  which  he  desired,  the  Quinta  de 
Esttban  with  its  hidden  gold.  That  there  was  a  treasure 
Cueto  had  never  doubted,  and,  once  the  place  was  his  to 
do  with  as  he  chose,  he  began  his  search. 

Cueto  was  a  tireless,  thorough-going  man,  therefore  he 
did  not  set  about  his  explorations  in  the  haphazard  man 
ner  of  Dona  Isabel.  Commencing  at  the  lower  edge  of 
the  grounds,  he  ripped  them  up  with  a  series  of  deep 
trenches  and  cross-cuts.  It  was  a  task  that  required  the 
labor  of  many  men  for  several  weeks,  and  when  it  was 
finished  there  was  scarcely  a  growing  thing  left  upon  the 
place.  Only  a  few  of  the  larger  trees  remained.  Cueto 
was  disappointed  at  finding  nothing,  but  he  was  not  dis 
couraged.  Next  he  tore  down  the  old  slave  barracoons 
and  the  outbuildings,  after  which  he  completely  wrecked 
the  residence  itself.  He  pulled  it  apart  bit  by  bit,  brick 
by  brick.  H«  even  dug  up  its  foundations,  but  without 
the  reward  of  so  much  as  a  single  peseta.  Finally,  when 

97 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  villa  was  but  a  heap  of  rubbish  and  the  grounds  a 
scar  upon  the  slope  of  La  Cumbre,  he  desisted,  baffled, 
incredulous,  while  all  Matanzas  laughed  at  him.  Having 
sacrificed  his  choicest  residence,  he  retired  in  chagrin  to 
the  plantation  of  La  Joya. 

But  Cueto  was  now  a  man  with  a  grievance.  He 
burned  with  rage,  and  his  contempt  for  the  boy  and  girl 
he  had  wronged  soured  into  hatred.  Such  time  as  he 
did  not  spend  in  racking  his  brain  to  explain  the  disap 
pearance  of  the  dead  Este"ban's  riches,  he  devoted  to 
cursing  the  living  Est£ban  and  his  sister,  who,  it  seemed 
to  him,  were  somehow  to  blame  for  his  wrecked  hopes. 

In  time  he  began  to  realize  also  that  so  long  as  they 
lived  they  would  jeopardize  his  tenure  of  their  property. 
Public  feeling,  at  present,  was  high;  there  was  intense 
bitterness  against  all  rebels;  but  the  war  would  end  some 
day.  What  then?  Cueto  asked  himself.  Sympathy  was 
ever  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and  oppressed.  There  would 
come  a  day  of  reckoning. 

As  if  to  swell  his  discomfiture  and  strengthen  his  fears, 
out  from  the  hills  at  the  head  of  the  Yumuri  issued  rumors 
of  a  little  band  of  guerriileros,  under  the  leadership  of  a 
beardless  boy — a  band  of  blacks  who  were  making  the 
upper  valley  unsafe  for  Spanish  scouting  parties. 

Cursing  the  name  of  Varona,  Pancho  Cueto  armed  him 
self.  He  did  not  venture  far  alone,  and,  like  Dona  Isabel 
before  him,  he  began  to  have  bad  dreams  at  night. 

One  day  a  field  of  Cueto's  cane  was  burned,  and  his 
laborers  reported  seeing  Este"ban  and  some  negroes  riding 
into  the  wood.  The  overseer  took  horse  within  the  hour 
and  rode  pell-mell  to  Matanzas.  In  the  city  at  this  time 
was  a  certain  Colonel  Cobo,  in  command  of  Spanish 
Volunteers,  those  execrable  convict  troops  from  the  Isle 
of  Pines  whose  atrocities  had  already  marked  them  as 
wolves  rather  than  men,  and  to  him  Pancho  went  with 
his  story. 

98 


THE    SPANISH    DOUBLOON 

"Ah  yes!  That  Varona  boy.  I've  heard  of  him," 
Cobo  remarked,  when  his  caller  had  finished  his  account. 
"He  has  reason  to  hate  you,  I  dare  say,  for  you  robbed 
him."  The  Colonel  smiled  disagreeably.  He  was  a  dis 
agreeable  fellow,  so  dark  of  skin  as  to  lend  credence  to 
the  gossip  regarding  his  parentage;  a  loud,  strutting, 
domineering  person,  whose  record  in  Santa  Clara  Province 
was  such  that  only  the  men  discussed  it. 

Cueto  murmured  something  to  the  effect  that  the  law 
had  placed  him  in  his  position  as  trustee  for  the  crown, 
and  should  therefore  protect  him;  but  Colonel  Cobo's 
respect  for  the  law,  it  seemed,  was  slight.  In  his  view 
there  was  but  one  law  in  the  land,  the  law  of  force. 

"Why  do  you  come  to  me?"  he  asked. 

"That  fellow  is  a  desperado,"  Pancho  declared.  "He 
should  be  destroyed." 

"  Bah !  The  country  is  overrun  with  desperadoes  of  his 
kind,  and  worse.  Burning  crops  is  nothing  new.  I'd 
make  an  end  of  him  soon  enough,  but  nearly  all  of  my 
men  are  in  Cardenas.  We  have  work  enough  to  do." 

"I'd  make  it  worth  while,  if  you  could  put  an  end  to 
him,"  Pancho  said,  hesitatingly.  Then,  recalling  some 
of  those  stories  about  Colonel  Cobo,  he  added,  "There 
are  two  of  them,  you  know,  a  boy  and  a  girl." 

4 '  Ah  yes !    I  remember. ' ' 

"I  can  direct  you  to  the  house  of  Asensio,  where  they 
live." 

"Um-m!"  Cobo  was  thoughtful.  "A  girl.  How  old 
is  she?" 

"Eighteen." 

"  Ugly  as  an  alligator,  I'll  warrant." 

"Ha!  The  most  ravishing  creature  in  all  Matanzas. 
All  the  men  were  mad  over  her."  Cueto's  eyes  gleamed 
craftily,  for  he  believed  he  had  measured  Cobo's  caliber. 
4 'She  should  have  married  old  Castafio  and  all  his  money, 
but  she  was  heart  and  soul  in  the  revolution.  She  and 

99 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  boy  were  spying  on  us,  you  know,  and  sending  the. 
information  to  that  rebel,  Lopez." 

' '  Lopez !    Spies,  were  they  ?" 

"The  worst  kind.  You'd  scarcely  believe  it  of  a 
beautiful  girl,  with  her  culture  and  refinement.  I  tell 
you  it  broke  more  than  one  heart.  De  Castano,  for  in 
stance,  has  never  recovered.  He  sits  all  day  in  the 
Casino  and  grieves  for  her.  Such  hair  and  eyes,  such 
skin — as  white  as  milk — and  flesh  as  pure  as  the  petals 
of  a  flower.  Well,  you  wouldn't  believe  such  charms 
existed." 

Colonel  Cobo,  the  guerrilla,  licked  his  full,  red  lips  and 
ran  a  strong,  square  hand  over  his  curly,  short-cropped 
hair.  "You  say  you  know  where  she — where  they  are 
living?" 

"Ah,  perfectly!  It's  less  than  a  night's  ride.  There's 
no  one  except  the  boy  to  reckon  with." 

"How  much  is  he  worth  to  you?"  bluntly  inquired  the 
soldier,  and  Cueto  sat  down  to  make  the  best  terms 
possible. 

"Do  you  think  he  received  my  letter?"  Rosa  asked  of 
her  brother  one  evening  as  they  sat  on  the  board  bench  by 
Asensio's  door.  It  was  a  familiar  question  to  Este"ban; 
he  had  answered  it  many  times. 

"Oh  yes!"  he  declared.  "Lopez's  messenger  got 
through  to  Key  West." 

"Then  why  doesn't  he  come?" 

"But,  my  dear,  you  must  be  patient.  Think  of  his 
difficulties." 

The  girl  sighed.  "I  do.  I  think  of  nothing  else. 
Sometimes  I  feel  that  he  is  here — I  seem  to  feel  his  presence 
— then  again  the  most  terrible  doubts  assail  me.  You 
know  there  was  another  woman.  Perhaps." 

"What  an  idea!"  Este"ban  exclaimed.  "As  if  he  could 
think  of  any  one  after  knowing  you.  Did  he  not  assure 

100 


THE    SPANISH    DOUBLOON 

you  that  he  was  going  to  New  York  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  breaking  off  that  affair?  Well,  then!"  This  subject 
always  distressed  young  Varona;  therefore  he  changed  it. 
"Come!  You  haven't  heard  of  my  good  fortune.  I 
captured  another  fine  snake  to-day,  a  big,  sleepy  fellow. 
Believe  me,  he'll  wake  up  when  I  set  fire  to  his  tail. 
He'll  go  like  the  wind,  and  with  every  foot  he  goes  away 
will  go  more  of  Pancho  Cueto's  profits." 

"You  intend  to  burn  more  of  his  fields?"  absently  in 
quired  the  girl. 

"Every  one  of  them.  You  should  have  seen  those  rats 
when  we  soaked  them  with  oil  and  set  them  afire.  They 
scampered  fast;  but  their  hair  is  short;  they  don't  run 
far.  These  snakes  will  be  better." 

"It  seems  terrible  to  destroy  our  own  property." 

Este*ban  broke  out  excitedly;  he  could  not  discuss 
Pancho  Cueto  without  losing  control  of  himself.  "Would 
you  permit  that  traitor  to  fatten  upon  the  profits  of  our 
plantations?  He  thinks  he  is  safe;  he  is  preparing  for  a 
rich  crop  at  high  prices,  but  he  shall  never  reap  a  dollar 
from  Varona  land  as  long  as  I  live.  I  shall  ruin  him,  as 
he  ruined  us." 

Rosa  shook  her  dark  head  sadly.  "And  we  are  indeed 
ruined.  Think  of  our  beautiful  house;  all  our  beautiful 
things,  too!  We  used  to  consider  ourselves  poor,  but — 
how  little  we  knew  of  real  poverty.  There  are  so  many 
things  I  want.  Have  we  nothing  left?" 

"I  thought  it  best  to  buy  those  rifles,"  the  brother 
murmured,  dropping  his  eyes.  "It  was  one  chance  in  a 
million." 

"No  doubt  it  was.  It  seems  those  Spaniards  will  sell 
their  souls." 

"Exactly.  We  can  dig  food  from  the  earth  and  pluck 
it  from  the  trees,  but  good  Mausers  don't  grow  on  every 
bush.  Besides,  of  what  use  would  money  be  to  us  when 
we  have  no  place  to  spend  it?" 

JOI 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"True!"  After  a  moment  Rosa  mused  aloud:  "I 
wonder  if  Cueto  found  the  treasure?  If  only  we  had 
that—" 

"  He  didn't  find  it,"  Este"ban  declared,  positively.  "  I " 
— he  hesitated — "I  think  I  know  why  he  didn't." 

"Yes?" 

"I  think  I  know  where  it  is." 

"Esteban!"    Rosa  stared,  round-eyed,  at  her  brother. 

"Oh,  I  mean  it.     I've  been  thinking  so  ever  since — " 

"Where  is  it?"  breathlessly  inquired  the  girl. 

After  a  furtive  look  over  his  shoulder  Esteban  whispered, 
"In  the  well." 

"You're  joking!" 

"No,  no!  Think  for  yourself.  It  was  old  Sebastian 
who  dug  that  well — " 

"Yes." 

' '  And  he  alone  shared  father's  confidence.  That  sunken 
garden  was  all  Sebastian's  work;  he  spent  all  his  time 
there,  although  he  was  a  big,  strong  man  and  capable  of 
any  task.  No  one  else  was  allowed  to  tend  it.  Why? 
I'll  tell  you.  They  feared  to  let  any  one  else  draw  the 
water.  Isabel  searched  for  years:  if  that  treasure  had 
been  above  ground  her  sharp  nose  would  have  smelled  it 
out,  and  now  Cueto  has  moved  the  very  earth." 

Rosa  sat  back,  disappointed.     ' '  So  that's  your  theory  ?' ' 

" It's  more  than  a  theory,"  the  boy  insisted.  "Look  at 
this!"  From  the  pocket  of  his  cotton  trousers  he  pro 
duced  an  odd-looking  coin  which  he  placed  in  Rosa's  hand. 

"Why,  it's  gold!  It's  a  Spanish  doubloon,"  she  said. 
"It's  the  first  one  I  ever  saw.  Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"You'll  think  I'm  crazy  when  I  tell  you — sometimes  I 
think  so  myself.  I  found  it  in  Isabel's  hand  when  I  took 
her  from  the  well!" 

Rosa  was  stricken  speechless. 

"She  clutched  it  tightly,"  Esteban  hurried  on,  "but  as 
I  made  the  rope  fast  her  hand  relaxed  and  I  saw  it  in  the 

1 02 


THE    SPANISH    DOUBLOON 

lantern-light.  It  was  as  if — well,  as  if  she  gave  it  to  me. 
I  was  too  badly  frightened  to  think  much  about  it,  as 
you  may  imagine.  It  was  a  horrible  place,  all  slime  and 
foul  water;  the  rocks  were  slippery.  But  that  coin 
was  in  her  fingers." 

Rosa  managed  to  say:  "Impossible!  Then  she  must 
have  had  it  when  she  fell." 

"No,  no!  I  saw  her  hands  upstretched,  her  fingers 
open,  in  the  moonlight." 

"It's  uncanny.    Perhaps — " 

"Yes.  Perhaps  some  unseen  hand  led  her  to  the  place 
so  that  we  should  at  last  come  into  our  own.  Who  knows  ? 
I  didn't  bother  my  head  about  the  matter  at  first,  what 
with  our  flight  and  all,  but  now  I  reason  that  there  must 
be  other  coins  where  this  one  came  from.  There's  no 
doubt  that  father  hid  his  money.  He  turned  his  slaves 
into  gold,  he  bought  jewels,  precious  metal,  anything  he 
could  hide.  Well,  perhaps  there  were  old  coins  in  the  lot. 
The  water  in  the  well  is  shallow;  Isabel  must  have 
groped  this  piece  from  the  bottom.  Some  day  I  shall 
explore  the  hole  and — we  shall  see." 

Rosa  flung  her  arms  rapturously  about  her  brother's 
neck  and  kissed  him.  "Wouldn't  it  be  glorious?"  she 
cried.  "Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful,  to  be  rich,  and  to 
want  for  nothing ;  to  have  fine  clothes  and  good  things  to 
eat  once  more?  Good  things  to  eat!"  Her  lip  quivered. 
"Oh— I'm  so  hungry." 

"Poor  little  girl!" 

"Wait  till  O'Reilly  hears  about  this."  Rosa  was  all 
excitement  once  more.  "He'll  be  glad  he  came  and  got 
me,  if  he  does  come." 

Este"ban  caressed  her.  "He'll  come,  never  fear.  You 
remember  he  warned  me  to  be  careful?  Well  I — I  blame 
myself  for  bringing  you  to  this.  For  myself,  of  course  I 
don't  mind,  but  for  you  this  life  must  be  terrible.  I  know 
it.  Every  time  I  leave  you  my  heart  is  in  my  throat  for 

103 


RAINBOW'S    END 

fear  of  what  may  happen  in  my  absence — and  yet  I  can't 
always  be  at  your  side." 

"There!  You  acknowledge  that  I  handicap  you. 
Except  for  me  you  would  be  making  a  glorious  name  for 
yourself." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  More  probably  I'd  be  getting 
myself  killed.  No !  It's  better  this  way.  We  must  be 
brave  and  patient  and — think  of  what  is  waiting  for  us 
at  the  bottom  of  that  well." 

It  was  indeed  a  great  piece  of  luck  which  had  enabled 
Est6ban  Varona  to  buy  a  half-dozen  Mausers  from  a 
Spanish  soldier.  Through  Asensio's  acquaintance  he  had 
profited  by  the  dishonesty  of  an  enemy,  and,  although  it 
had  taken  all  his  money  to  effect  the  purchase,  Este"ban 
considered  the  sacrifice  well  worth  while.  The  fire  of 
patriotism  burned  fiercely  in  him,  as  did  his  hatred  of 
Pancho  Cueto,  and  the  four  trusty  young  negroes  to  whom 
he  had  given  rifles  made,  with  Asensio  and  himself,  an 
armed  party  large  enough  to  be  reckoned  with.  These 
blacks  were  excitable  fellows,  and  wretched  marksmen, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  each  and  every  one  had  been 
raised  with  a  machete  at  his  hip  and  knew  how  to  use  it. 
After  a  few  preliminary  forays  under  Est6ban's  leadership 
they  had  absorbed  a  bit  of  discipline  and  were  beginning  to 
feel  a  military  ardor. 

In  the  Cuban  field  forces  there  were  many  negroes,  and 
many  of  their  fellow-patriots  fought  better,  or  endured 
the  hardships  of  guerrilla  warfare  more  cheerfully,  than 
they.  Gen.  Antonio  Maceo  was  of  mixed  blood,  and 
yet  his  leadership  was  characterized  not  only  by  rare 
judgment  and  ability,  but  also  by  an  exalted  abandon  of 
personal  bravery.  His  several  brothers  rendered  Cuba 
services  scarcely  less  distinguished,  and  they  were  but 
of  a  few  of  many  dark-skinned  heroes.  This  struggle  for 
independence  was  no  patrician's  war;  the  best  stock  of 
the  island  fought  side  by  side  with  field-hands. 

104 


THE    SPANISH    DOUBLOON 

At  dawn  of  the  morning  following  his  talk  with  Rosa, 
when  the  members  of  his  command  assembled,  Este"ban 
was  up  and  ready.  He  had  made  his  preparations  to 
destroy  Pancho  Cueto's  fields,  and  since  the  road  over  the 
hills  to  La  Joya  was  long  he  had  summoned  them  early. 

"Be  careful!"  Rosa  implored  him.  "I  shall  die  of 
suspense." 

"  It  is  for  you  to  be  careful,"  he  laughed.  "Keep  a  good 
watch,  and  conceal  yourself  at  the  first  alarm.  However, 
I  think  we  have  taught  these  bandits  a  lesson.  As  for 
Cueto,  he  would  run  to  the  jungle  if  he  saw  us.  He  has 
the  heart  of  a  mouse."  He  kissed  his  sister  affectionately 
and  then  rode  off  at  the  head  of  his  tattered  band. 

Rosa  waved  him  a  last  farewell  as  he  disappeared  into 
the  woods,  then,  to  occupy  herself,  she  helped  Evangelina 
with  what  little  housework  there  was  to  do,  later  going 
with  her  to  the  garden  patch  where  the  viandas  grew. 

Evangelina's  early  devotion  to  her  mistress  had  not 
diminished  with  time;  if  anything,  it  had  deepened. 
When  emancipation  came  she  would  have  returned  to  the 
service  of  her  beloved  twins  had  it  not  been  for  Dona 
Isabel's  refusal  to  accept  her.  As  it  was,  she  and  Asensio 
had  married,  and  by  means  of  Rosa's  surreptitious  help 
they  had  managed  to  buy  this  little  piece  of  land.  Rosa 
had  practised  self-denial  to  make  the  purchase  possible, 
and  her  self-sacrifice  had  borne  fruit :  that  act  of  childish 
beneficence  had  created  a  refuge  for  Este"ban  and  herself 
and  had  ripened  the  negro  woman's  affection  into  idolatry. 

Evangelina's  joy  at  having  the  girl  to  herself,  where  she 
could  daily  see  her,  touch  her,  serve  her,  was  tempered 
only  by  the  knowledge  of  Rosa's  unhappiness.  She 
scolded  and  tyrannized,  she  mothered  and  adored  the  girl 
to  her  heart's  content;  she  watched  over  her  like  a  hawk; 
she  deemed  no  labor  in  her  service  too  exacting.  It  would 
have  gone  ill  with  any  one  who  offered  harm  to  Rosa,  for 
Evangelina  was  strong  and  capable;  she  had  the  arms  and 
8  IOS 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  hands  of  a  man,  and  she  possessed  the  smoldering 
black  temper  of  Sebastian,  her  father. 

Even  in  peaceful  times  few  people  came  to  this  clearing 
in  the  woods,  far  ofi  from  the  main-traveled  roads  of  the 
Yumuri,  and  the  day,  as  usual,  passed  uneventfully. 
Evangelina  worked,  with  one  eye  upon  her  Rosa,  the 
other  watchfully  alert  for  danger.  When  evening  came 
she  prepared  their  scanty  meal,  upbraiding  Rosa,  mean 
while,  for  her  attempts  to  assist  her.  Then  they  sat 
for  an  hour  or  two  on  the  bench  outside  the  door,  talk 
ing  about  Juan  O'Rail-ye  and  the  probable  hour  of  his 
coming. 

There  were  no  candles  in  Asensio's  house  now,  and  had 
there  been,  neither  woman  would  have  dared  light  one. 
To  hunted  creatures  darkness  is  a  friend;  danger  stalks 
under  the  sun. 

When  Rosa  fretted  about  her  brother,  the  negress  re 
assured  her.  "Don't  be  frightened,  little  dove;  he  has 
the  makings  of  a  great  soldier.  It's  a  good  thing  for  the 
Spaniards  that  he  isn't  general.  Cuba  would  be  free  in 
no  time." 

"He's  so  reckless." 

"Oh,  he  knows  what  he's  doing.  Besides,  Asensio 
wouldn't  let  him  be  hurt.  I  took  pains  to  tell  him  that 
if  ever  he  permitted  Este"ban  to  suffer  so  much  as  a 
scratch  I  would  disembowel  him  with  his  own  machete. 
He  knows  me.  Now,  then,  it  is  growing  cool  and  the 
night  air  carries  fevers.  Creep  into  your  bed  and  dream 
about  that  handsome  lover  of  yours." 

"No,  I'll  keep  watch  with  you." 

Evangelina  was  indignant .  ' '  Go !' '  she  stormed.  ' '  What 
will  happen  to  those  red  cheeks  if  you  don't  sleep?  Do 
you  think  the  American  will  want  to  marry  an  old  woman 
with  wrinkles?  He  may  be  here  to-morrow — yes,  I  have 
a  certain  feeling  about  it." 

Rosa  obeyed,  although  reluctantly.  "I'll  sleep  for  a 

1 06 


THE    SPANISH    DOUBLOON 

while,"  she  compromised,  "then  I'll  come  out  and  take 
my  turn." 

This  exactly  suited  the  elder  woman,  who  knew  some 
thing  about  the  slumbers  of  youth.  Nevertheless,  dawn 
was  still  a  long  way  off  when,  true  to  her  promise,  Rosa 
emerged  from  the  hut  with  an  apology  for  having  slept 
so  long.  Evangelina  protested,  though  her  eyes  were 
heavy  and  she  had  been  yawning  prodigiously  for  hours. 
But  for  once  the  girl  was  firm.  "I  can't  sleep,"  she  de 
clared.  "Why  force  me  to  lie  staring  into  the  dark  while 
you  suffer?"  Having  finally  prevailed  in  her  deter 
mination,  she  seated  herself  in  the  warm  place  Evangelina 
had  vacated,  and,  curling  her  small  feet  under  her,  she 
settled  herself,  chin  in  hand,  to  think  of  O'Reilly.  It 
was  a  good  time  to  think,  for  the  jungle  was  very  still  and 
the  night  like  a  velvet  curtain. 

"We  had  better  leave  the  horses  here."  Pancho  Cueto 
hesitatingly  addressed  the  dim  blur  which  he  knew  to  be 
Colonel  Cobo.  The  Colonel  of  Volunteers  was  in  a  vile 
temper,  what  with  the  long  night  ride  and  an  error  of 
Cueto's  which  had  considerably  lengthened  the  journey. 

"Where  is  the  house?"  growled  the  officer. 

"  Not  far.    But  the  path  is  rocky  and  the  horses'  feet — " 

"God,  yes!"  There  was  a  creak  of  saddle  leathers  and 
a  groan  as  the  colonel  dismounted.  "Now,  my  good 
Cueto,"  he  threatened,  "another  of  your  mistakes  and 
I'll  give  you  something  to  remember  me  by.  Damnation ! 
What  a  night !  As  black  as  hell." 

"It  will  be  daylight  before  we  know  it,"  the  other  said, 
nervously. 

"Excellent!  Then  I  can  see  to  deal  with  you  if  you've 
fooled  me."  A  curt  order  brought  his  men  out  of  their 
saddles.  One  of  their  number  was  detailed  to  guard  the 
animals,  while  the  rest  fell  in  behind  Cueto  and  followed 
him  up  the  trail  by  the  starglow. 

107 


IX 

MARAUDERS 

'"PHE  surprise  was  easily  effected,  for  Colonel  Cobo's 
1  men  were  accomplished  in  this  sort  of  work.  Rosa, 
crouching  upon  her  bench,  heard  nothing,  saw  nothing, 
until  out  of  the  shadows  beside  her  human  forms  ma 
terialized.  Her  white  dress,  like  a  dim  phosphorescent 
glow  in  dark  waters,  betrayed  her  presence,  and  as  she 
sprang  to  her  feet  rough  hands  seized  her.  She  screamed 
once,  twice;  then  a  palm  closed  over  her  mouth  and  she 
began  to  struggle  like  a  cat. 

Evangelina,  who  had  waked  at  the  first  outcry,  met 
the  marauders  as  they  rushed  through  the  door.  The 
hush  of  the  sleeping  jungle  was  shattered  now ;  there  were 
shouts  and  curses,  loudly  bellowed  orders,  a  great  scuf 
fling  and  pounding  of  feet  upon  the  dirt  floor  of  the  hut, 
the  rickety,  bark-covered  walls  bulged  and  creaked. 
Over  all  sounded  the  shrieks  of  the  negress  battling  in  the 
pitch-black  interior  like  an  animal  in  its  lair.  Then  some 
one  set  fire  to  the  thatch;  the  flames  licked  up  the  dead 
palm-leaves  to  the  ridge-pole,  and  the  surroundings  leaped 
into  view. 

Rosa  saw  a  swarthy,  thick-set  man  in  the  uniform  of  a 
Colonel  of  Volunteers,  and  behind  him  Pancho  Cueto. 
Tearing  the  hand  from  her  lips  for  a  moment,  she  cried 
Cueto's  name,  but  he  gave  no  heed.  He  was  straining  his 
gaze  upon  the  door  of  the  bohio  in  the  immediate  expecta 
tion  of  seeing  Este'ban  emerge.  He  clutched  a  revolver  in 

108 


MARAUDERS 

his  hand,  but  it  was  plain  from  the  nerveless  way  in  which 
he  held  the  weapon  that  he  had  little  stomach  for  the  ad 
venture.  He  was,  in  fact,  more  inclined  to  run  than  to 
stand  his  ground.  Rosa  shrieked  his  name  again;  then 
she  heard  the  officer  say: 

"Where  is  the  young  fellow?  I  hear  nothing  but  the 
squeals  of  that  common  wench." 

Evangelina's  cries  of  rage  and  defiance  suddenly  ceased, 
and  with  them  the  sounds  of  combat.  From  the  blazing 
bohio  ran  two  armed  men,  brushing  sparks  from  their 
clothing.  A  third  followed,  dragging  Evangelina  by  one 
naked  arm.  The  black  woman  was  inert;  her  scanty 
garments  were  well-nigh  ripped  from  her  body:  she  lay 
huddled  where  the  soldier  flung  her. 

Rosa  felt  herself  swooning,  and  she  knew  nothing  of 
what  immediately  followed.  After  a  time  she  felt  herself 
shaken,  and  heard  the  colonel  addressing  her. 

"Come,  come!"  he  was  saying.  "Why  don't  you 
answer  me  ?"  He  dragged  her  farther  from  what  was  now 
a  roaring  furnace.  "Where  is  your  precious  brother  and 
that  black  fellow?" 

Rosa  could  only  stare  dully. 

"It  seems  we  missed  them,"  said  Cueto. 

"More  of  your  bungling,"  Cobo  broke  out  at  him, 
wrathfully.  "God!  I've  a  mind  to  toss  you  into  that 
fire."  He  turned  his  attention  once  more  to  Rosa,  and 
with  a  jerk  that  shook  her  into  fuller  consciousness  re 
peated:  "Where  are  they?  Speak  to  me." 

' '  Gone !"  she  gasped.  ' '  Gone !' '  She  struggled  weakly 
toward  Cueto,  imploring  him,  "Pancho,  don't  you  know 
me?" 

"Well,  we've  taught  him  a  lesson,"  said  Cueto,  grinning 
apprehensively  at  Cobo.  "We've  accomplished  some 
thing,  anyhow,  eh?"  He  nodded  at  Rosa.  "She's  all 
that  I  told  you.  Look  at  her!" 

Colonel  Cobo  took  time  to  scrutinize  his  prisoner. 

109 


RAINBOW'S    END 

He  turned  her  about  in  the  light  from  the  burning  dwell 
ing;  then  he  agreed. 

"Yes!  She's  a  pretty  little  spy — quite  a  prize,  truly. 
Now  then!"  His  thick  lips  spread;  he  spoke  to  her  more 
gently.  "I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  that  brother  of 
yours,  eh?  Cueto  said  I  would  find  him  here.  Ha! 
Still  frightened,  I  see.  Well,  I  have  a  way  with  women ; 
I  dare  say  you'll  be  glad  to  tell  me  everything  by  and  by." 
Then,  seeing  that  his  men  risked  a  scorching  in  their 
search  of  the  hut  and  were  already  quarreling  over  the 
scanty  plunder  which  it  afforded,  he  turned  from  Rosa 
to  call  them  away. 

Profiting  by  his  inattention,  Rosa  wriggled  out  of  his 
grasp  and  ran  to  Evangelina,  who  lay  face  down  in  the 
dirt,  her  limbs  sprawled  loosely.  She  flung  herself  upon 
the  prostrate  body  and  cried  the  black  woman's  name,  but 
she  could  awaken  no  response. 

The  first  pink  of  dawn  was  now  deepening  in  the  east, 
and  as  soon  as  it  had  grown  light  enough  to  see  to  travel 
Colonel  Cobo  prepared  to  return  to  his  horses.  The  roof 
and  walls  of  the  bohio  had  fallen  away  to  ashes,  its  skeleton 
of  poles  and  its  few  pieces  of  crude  furniture  alone 
were  smoldering  when  he  called  his  men  together  and 
gave  the  word  to  go. 

"Come,  my  sweetheart."  He  addressed  himself  to  the 
girl.  "Leave  that  carrion  for  the  buzzards." 

Rosa  looked  up  to  find  him  leering  at  her.  She  brushed 
the  tears  from  her  eyes,  crying : 

"Go  away!  In  God's  name  haven't  you  done  harm 
enough?" 

"Oh,  but  you're  going  with  me." 

The  girl  rose;  her  face  was  colorless;  she  was  aquiver 
with  indignation.  "Leave  me!"  she  stormed.  "What 
have  I  done  to  you?  Don't — " 

"Caramba!  A  temper.  And  you  have  strength,  too, 
as  I  discovered.  Must  I  bind  those  pretty  hands  or — " 

no 


MARAUDERS 

Colonel  Cobo  reached  forth,  laughing,  and  encircled  her 
in  his  powerful  arms.  Rosa  fought  him  as  she  had  fought 
at  the  first  moment  of  desperation,  but  he  lifted  her  easily 
and  went  striding  across  the  field  behind  his  men. 

Este"ban's  party  made  good  time  over  the  hills  and  into 
the  San  Juan,  for  Asensio  knew  the  country  well.  Mid- 
afternoon  found  them  in  sight  of  La  Joya.  Cueto's  cane 
was  thick  and  high ;  it  was  ready  for  the  knife  or  for  the 
torch.  Making  a  de'tour,  the  incendiaries  approached  it 
from  the  east  in  order  to  have  the  trade-winds  at  their 
backs.  They  dismounted  in  the  shelter  of  a  wood  and 
removed  the  bags  which  they-  had  carried  on  their 
saddles.  Inside  these  bags  were  several  snakes,  the 
largest  perhaps  eight  feet  in  length.  To  the  tail  of 
each  the  negroes  fastened  a  leather  thong,  and  then  to 
each  thong  a  length  of  telegraph-wire,  the  end  of  which 
had  been  bent  into  a  loop  to  hold  a  bundle  of  oil-soaked 
waste.  These  preliminaries  accomplished,  they  bore  the 
reptiles  into  the  cane-fields  at  widely  separated  places  and 
lighted  the  waste. 

Este"ban,  from  his  saddle,  saw  the  first  wisps  of  smoke 
arise  and  grow  and  unwind  into  long  ribbons,  reaching 
deep  into  the  standing  crop.  Soon  tongues  of  flame  ap 
peared  and  the  green  tops  of  the  cane  began  to  shrivel 
and  to  wave  as  the  steady  east  wind  took  effect.  From 
the  nearest  conflagration  a  great  snapping  and  crackling 
of  juicy  stalks  arose.  The  thin,  dry  strippings  with  which 
the  earth  was  carpeted  formed  a  vast  tinder  bed,  and 
once  the  fire  was  started  there  was  no  checking  it.  Smoke 
billowed  upward  and  was  hurried  westward  before  the 
breeze;  in  a  dozen  places  the  fields  burst  into  flame. 
From  somewhere  came  a  faint  shouting,  then  a  shot  or  two, 
and  finally  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 

Este"ban  waited  only  until  he  saw  that  his  work  of  devas 
tation  was  well  under  way,  then  he  led  his  followers  back 

in 


RAINBOW'S    END 

toward  the  hills.  At  sunset  he  reined  in  upon  the  crest  of 
a  ridge  and  looked  behind  him  into  the  valley.  The  whole 
sky  was  black  with  smoke,  as  if  a  city  were  in  flames. 

Removing  his  wide  jipi-japa  hat,  the  young  man  swept 
a  mocking  salutation  to  the  east. 

"So  now,  good  Pancho  Cueto,"  he  cried,  "I  leave  you 
the  compliments  of  those  twins  you  love  so  well." 

In  the  shelter  of  a  ravine  the  party  took  time  to  eat 
supper,  their  first  meal  since  leaving  home,  and  it  was 
after  dark  when  they  finished.  The  negroes,  who  were 
thoroughly  tired,  were  for  spending  the  night  here,  but 
Este"ban,  more  cautious  than  they,  would  not  have  it  so. 
Accordingly,  the  men  remounted  their  weary  horses, 
though  not  without  some  grumbling,  and  set  out.  It  was 
slow  traveling,  for  the  woods  were  dark  and  the  trails 
were  blind;  the  men  were  fairly  obliged  to  feel  their  way. 
At  length  they  crossed  the  summit  and  worked  down 
toward  the  Yumuri,  but  it  seemed  as  if  daylight  would 
never  come. 

"A  weary  ride,"  EsteTjan  yawned.  "I  shall  sleep  for  a 
week." 

Asensio  agreed.  "That  Cueto  will  be  furious,"  said  he. 
"Some  day,  perhaps,  he  and  I  will  meet  face  to  face. 
Then  I  shall  kill  him." 

Est6ban  reined  in  his  horse.  "  Look !"  said  he.  "  Yon 
der  is  a  light." 

The  other  horsemen  crowded  close,  staring  through  the 
darkness.  It  was  very  still  in  the  woods;  dawn  was  less 
than  half  an  hour  away. 

"What  is  Evangelina  thinking  about?"  Asensio  mut 
tered. 

"But,  see!  It  grows  brighter."  There  followed  a  mo 
ment  or  two  during  which  there  was  no  sound  except  the 
breathing  of  the  horses  and  the  creak  of  saddle  leathers 
as  the  riders  craned  their  necks  to  see  over  the  low  tree- 
tops  below  them.  Then  Este"ban  cried: 

112 


MARAUDERS 

"Come!  I'm — afraid  it's  our  house."  Fear  gripped 
him,  but  he  managed  to  say,  calmly,  "Perhaps  there  has 
been  an — accident." 

Asensio,  muttering  excitedly,  was  trying  to  crowd  past 
him;  for  a  few  yards  the  two  horses  brushed  along  side  by 
side.  The  distant  point  of  light  had  become  a  glare  now; 
it  winked  balefully  through  the  openings  as  the  party 
hurried  toward  it.  But  it  was  still  a  long  way  off,  and 
the  eastern  sky  had  grown  rosy  before  the  dense  woods  of 
the  hillside  gave  way  to  the  sparser  growth  of  the  low 
ground. 

Este"ban  turned  a  sick,  white  face  over  his  shoulder  and 
jerked  out  his  orders;  then  he  kicked  his  tired  mount 
into  a  swifter  gallop.  It  was  he  who  first  broke  out  into 
the  clearing.  One  glance,  and  the  story  was  told. 

The  hut  was  but  a  crumbling  skeleton  of  charred  poles. 
Strung  out  across  the  little  field  of  malangas,  yuccas,  and 
sweet-potatoes  were  several  hilarious  Volunteers,  their 
arms  filled  with  loot  from  the  cabin.  Behind  them  strode 
an  officer  bearing  Rosa  struggling  against  his  breast. 

Este"ban  did  not  pause;  he  drove  his  horse  headlong 
through  the  soft  red  earth  of  the  garden.  His  sudden  ap 
pearance  seemed  briefly  to  paralyze  the  marauders.  It 
was  a  moment  before  they  could  drop  their  spoils,  unsling 
their  rifles,  and  begin  to  fire  at  him,  and  by  that  time  he  had 
covered  half  the  distance  to  his  sister.  Those  rifle-shots 
came  faintly  to  E)ste"ban's  ears;  he  scarcely  heard  them; 
he  merely  lowered  his  head  and  rode  straight  at  that  black- 
visaged  colonel,  sobbing  and  whimpering  in  his  fury. 

But  in  spite  of  his  speed  he  made  no  difficult  target. 
A  bullet  brought  his  horse  down  and  the  boy  went  flying 
over  its  neck.  Nothing  but  the  loose  loam  saved  him 
from  injury.  As  he  rose  to  his  feet,  breathless  and  covered 
with  the  red  dirt,  there  came  a  swift  thudding  of  hoofs  and 
Asensio  swept  past  him  like  a  rocket.  Este"ban  caught 
one  glimpse  of  the  negro's  face,  a  fleeting  vision  of  white 

"3 


RAINBOW'S    END 

teeth  bared  to  the  gums,  of  distended  yellow  eyes,  of 
flat,  distorted  features;  then  Asensio  was  fairly  upon 
Colonel  Cobo.  The  colonel,  who  had  dropped  his  burden, 
now  tried  to  dodge.  Asensio  slashed  once  at  him  with 
his  long,  murderous  machete,  but  the  next  instant  he  was 
engaged  with  a  trooper  who  had  fired  almost  into  his  face. 

The  other  negroes  also  were  in  the  open  by  this  time, 
yelling  and  firing  as  fast  as  they  could  work  the  bolts 
of  their  rifles,  and  although  they  aimed  at  nothing  in 
particular,  the  effect  of  their  fusillade  was  all  that  could 
be  wished.  Cobo's  men,  led  by  the  terrified  Pancho 
Cueto,  turned  and  fled  for  cover,  believing  themselves  in 
danger  of  annihilation.  Nor  was  the  colonel  himself 
in  any  condition  to  rally  them,  for  Asensio's  blade  had 
cloven  one  full  dark  cheek  to  the  bone,  and  the  shock  and 
pain  had  unnerved  him;  he  was  frightened  at  sight  of  the 
blood  that  streamed  down  over  the  breast  of  his  white 
tunic,  and  so,  when  he  saw  his  men  turn  tail,  he  followed 
suit,  lunging  through  the  lush  garden  growth,  holding 
his  wound  in  his  hand  and  shrieking  profane  commands 
which  went  unheeded. 

The  field  was  small,  the  jungle  was  close  at  hand.  A 
moment  and  the  interlopers  had  vanished  into  it,  all  but 
one,  who  lay  kicking  among  the  broad  malanga-leaves,  and 
over  whom  Asensio  kept  spurring  his  terrified  horse, 
hacking  downward  with  insane  fury. 

This  was  the  first  hand-to-hand  encounter  Esteban's 
men  had  had,  and  their  swift  victory  rendered  them 
ferocious.  Flinging  their  guns  aside,  they  went  crashing 
into  the  brush  on  the  trail  of  their  enemies. 

Rosa  found  herself  in  her  brother's  arms,  sobbing  out 
the  story  of  the  outrage  and  quivering  at  every  sound  of 
the  chase.  He  was  caressing  her,  and  telling  her  to  have 
no  further  fears;  both  of  them  were  fairly  hysterical. 
Even  before  Este"ban  had  heard  all,  Lorenzo,  the  mulatto, 
reappeared,  leading  three  cavalry  horses  and  shouting 

114 


MARAUDERS 

extravagant  praises  of  his  own  bravery.  Esteban  com 
plimented  him  and  the  fellow  galloped  away  again, 
voicing  the  most  blood-curdling  threats. 

Evangelina,  thanks  to  her  thick  skull,  was  not  dead. 
In  the  course  of  time  under  Rosa's  and  Esteban's  minis 
trations  she  regained  her  senses,  and  when  the  other  men 
returned  they  found  her  lying  sick  and  dazed,  but  other 
wise  quite  whole. 

Then,  there  beside  the  ruins  of  the  hut,  was  a  strange 
scene  of  rejoicing.  Asensio,  recovered  now  from  his 
burst  of  savagery,  was  tearful,  compassionate;  his  com 
rades  laughed  and  chattered  and  bragged  about  their 
prodigious  deeds  of  valor.  Over  and  over  they  recounted 
their  versions  of  the  encounter,  each  more  fanciful  than 
the  other,  until  it  seemed  that  they  must  have  left  the 
forest  filled  with  corpses. 

Este"ban  alone  was  grave.  He  had  heard  of  Colonel 
Cobo,  and,  remembering  that  denim-clad  figure  out  yonder 
in  the  trampled  garden,  he  knew  that  serious  consequences 
would  follow.  The  Volunteers  were  revengeful;  their 
colonel  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  forgive  a  deep  humilia 
tion.  Doubtless  he  would  put  a  price  upon  the  heads  of 
all  of  them,  and  certainly  he  would  never  allow  them 
another  encounter  upon  anything  like  even  terms.  Then, 
too,  the  narrowness  of  Rosa's  escape  caused  the  boy's 
heart  to  dissolve  with  terror. 

After  a  conference  with  Asensio  he  decided  that  they 
must  prepare  for  flight,  and  late  that  afternoon  they  all 
set  out  to  seek  a  safer  refuge,  Evangelina  in  tears  at 
leaving  her  precious  garden  plot.  Their  led  horse,  one  of 
those  Lorenzo  had  captured,  carried  a  pitifully  light 
burden — only  some  tools,  some  pans  and  kettles,  and  a  roll 
of  charred  bedclothes. 

Johnnie  O'Reilly  had  no  difficulty  in  locating  the 
residence  of  Ignacio  Alvarado,  but  to  communicate  with 

"5 


RAINBOW'S    END 

him  was  quite  another  matter,  inasmuch  as  his  every 
step  was  dogged  by  that  persistent  shadow  from  Neuvitas. 
Leslie  Branch  had  told  him  enough  about  conditions  here 
in  Puerto  Principe  to  make  him  extremely  cautious,  and 
after  their  first  talk  he  had  once  more  concealed  his  re 
volver  in  a  safe  hiding-place,  taking  good  care  thereafter 
that  nothing  in  his  conduct  should  awaken  suspicion. 

Unfortunately  his  room  was  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
hotel,  and  hence  his  goings  and  comings  were  always  open 
to  observation.  But  he  noted  that  a  window  at  one  end 
of  the  upper  hall  overlooked  a  sloping,  tile-roofed  shed, 
and  that  the  garden  wall  behind  the  hotel  premises  was 
not  provided  with  those  barbarous  spikes  or  broken  bottles 
which  decorate  so  many  Cuban  walls.  It  promised  him 
a  means  of  egress  when  the  time  should  come  to  use  it. 
In  this  hall,  moreover,  directly  opposite  his  door  there 
was  an  oil  bracket-lamp  which  gave  light  to  the  passage 
way,  and  which  was  forever  going  out,  a  fact  which  the 
young  man  noted  with  satisfaction. 

One  evening,  several  days  after  his  arrival,  a  sudden 
rain-storm  drove  O'Reilly  indoors,  and  as  he  ascended  to 
his  room  he  saw  that  the  lamp  in  the  hallway  flared  and 
smoked  at  every  gust  of  wind.  It  was  very  dark  outside; 
he  reasoned  that  the  streets  would  be  deserted.  Hastily 
securing  that  book  which  Alvarado,  the  dentist,  had  given 
him,  he  took  a  position  close  inside  his  door.  When  he 
heard  the  spy  pass  and  enter  the  next  chamber  he  stole 
out  into  the  hall  ^and  breathed  into  the  lamp-chimney. 
A  moment  later  he  was  safely  through  the  window  and 
was  working  his  way  down  the  shed  roof,  praying  that 
his  movements  had  not  been  seen  and  that  the  tiles  were 
firm.  The  rain  was  driving  in  sheets  and  he  was  wet  to 
the  skin  when  he  dropped  into  the  patio;  nevertheless  he 
was  laughing  to  himself.  He  nimbly  scaled  the  wall, 
crossed  an  inclosure,  climbed  a  second  wall,  and  descended 
into  a  dark  side  street.  Taking  advantage  of  the  densest 

116 


MARAUDERS 

shadows  and  the  numerous  overhanging  balconies,  he  set 
out  at  a  brisk  trot. 

A  light  showed  through  the  barred  windows  of  the 
Alvarado  home,  indicating  that  the  family  was  in.  After 
some  fumbling  O'Reilly  laid  hold  of  the  latch;  then,  with 
out  knocking,  he  opened  the  front  door  and  stepped  in. 

He  found  himself,  as  he  had  expected,  in  the  parlor,  a 
high-ceilinged,  sparsely  furnished  room  with  a  glazed 
floor  of  Spanish  mosaics.  His  sudden  appearance  threw 
the  occupants  into  alarm:  a  woman  cried  out  sharply; 
a  man  whom  O'Reilly  identified  as  Ignacio  Alvarado  him 
self  leaped  to  his  feet  and  faced  him,  exclaiming: 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  a  friend.  Don't  be  alarmed."  Johnnie  sum 
moned  his  most  agreeable  smile,  then  he  extended  the 
sodden  package  he  had  carried  beneath  his  arm.  "  I  come 
from  your  brother  T6mas.  He  asked  me  to  hand  you 
this  book  and  to  say  that  he  is  returning  it  with  his 
thanks." 

"What  are  you  saying?"  Plainly  the  speaker  did  not 
comprehend;  there  was  nothing  but  apprehension  in  his 
voice. 

O'Reilly  tore  the  wet  paper  from  the  volume  and  laid 
it  in  Alvarado's  hand.  "Look  at  it,  please,  and  you'll 
understand.  I  didn't  take  time  to  knock,  for  fear  I 
might  be  followed." 

Alvarado  stared  first  at  the  book,  then  at  his  caller. 
After  a  moment  he  made  a  sign  to  his  wife,  who  left  the 
room.  Wetting  his  lips,  he  inquired,  with  an  effort, 
"What  do  you  want?" 

O'Reilly  told  him  in  a  few  words.  Alvarado  showed 
relief;  he  even  smiled.  "I  see,  but — Caramba!  You 
gave  me  a  start.  And  this  book!  Ha!  TomaS  will 
have  his  jokes.  It  is  well  you  took  precautions,  for 
I  am  under  surveillance.  I'll  help  you,  yes!  But 
you  must  not  come  here  again.  Return  to  your  hotel 

117 


RAINBOW'S    END 

and —  Let  me  think."  Seiior  Alvarado  frowned  in 
deepest  thought ;  then  he  said:  "  I  have  it !  Every  morn 
ing  at  half  past  nine  a  man  wearing  a  Panama  hat  and  a 
gray  silk  necktie  with  a  large  gold  pin  will  pass  along  the 
sidewalk  across  the  street  from  the  Isla  de  Cuba.  You 
will  know  him.  One  day,  I  cannot  promise  how  soon,  he 
will  lift  his  hat  thus,  and  wipe  his  face.  You  understand? 
Good.  Follow  him.  He  will  give  you  final  directions. 
Meanwhile  I  will  make  known  your  presence  to  certain 
of  our  friends  who  can  be  trusted.  You  know  Manin, 
the  druggist  ?  Well,  you  can  talk  to  him,  and  he  will  keep 
you  posted  as  to  our  progress.  Now  go  before  some  one 
comes." 

O'Reilly  wrung  the  Cuban's  hand.  Then  he  stepped 
out  into  the  night,  leaving  a  pool  of  water  on  the  clean 
blue  tiles  where  he  had  stood. 


,  x 

O'REILLY  TALKS  HOG  LATIN 

IN  the  days  that  followed  his  call  on  Ignacio  Alvarado, 
O'Reilly  behaved  so  openly  that  the  Secret  Service 
agent  detailed  to  watch  him  relaxed  his  vigilance.  Cer 
tainly  there  was  nothing  suspicious  in  the  conduct  of  a 
fellow  who  sat  all  the  morning  tipped  back  in  a  hotel 
chair,  languidly  scanning  the  passers-by,  whose  after 
noons  were  spent  on  the  streets  or  at  the  soda-fountain 
in  Manin's  drug-store,  and  whose  evenings  were  devoted 
to  aimless  gossip  with  his  countryman,  the  newspaper 
writer.  Manifestly  this  O'Reilly  was  a  harmless  person. 
But  the  spy  did  not  guess  how  frantic  Johnnie  was  be 
coming  at  this  delay,  how  he  inwardly  chafed  and  fretted 
when  two  weeks  had  rolled  by  and  still  no  signal  had 
come.  Manin  told  him  to  be  patient ;  he  assured  him  that 
word  had  been  sent  into  the  Cubitas  hills,  and  that 
friends  were  busy  in  his  behalf;  but  Johnnie  was  eager 
to  be  up  and  doing.  This  inaction  paralyzed  him;  it 
made  him  almost  ill  to  think  how  much  time  had  slipped 
away.  Then,  too,  his  money  was  running  low. 

At  last,  however,  the  day  arrived  when  the  man  with 
the  gray  necktie  raised  his  hat  and  wiped  his  brow  as  he 
passed  the  Isla  de  Cuba.  Johnnie  could  scarcely  hold 
himself  in  his  chair.  By  and  by  he  rose,  stretching  him 
self,  and  sauntered  after  the  fellow.  For  several  blocks 
he  kept  him  in  sight,  but  without  receiving  any  further 
sign.  The  man  paused  to  greet  friends,  he  stopped  at 

119 


RAINBOW'S    END 

several  shops,  and  his  aimless  wanderings  continued  for 
the  best  part  of  an  hour,  during  which  he  led  the  way 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  Fortunately  O'Reilly's  shad 
ow  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

Without  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  the  man  turned 
into  a  large,  walled  inclosure.  When  Johnnie  followed 
he  found  himself  in  one  of  the  old  cemeteries.  Ahead  of 
him,  up  a  shady  avenue  bordered  with  trees,  the  stranger 
hurried;  then  he  swerved  to  his  left,  and  when  O'Reilly 
came  to  the  point  where  he  had  disappeared  there  was  no 
body  in  sight.  Apprehending  that  he  had  made  some 
mistake  in  the  signal,  O'Reilly  hastened  down  the  walk. 
Then  at  last,  to  his  great  relief,  he  heard  a  sibilant: 

"Psst!    Psst!" 

It  came  from  behind  a  screen  of  shrubbery,  and 
there  he  found  the  Cuban  waiting.  The  latter  began 
rapidly: 

"Our  plans  are  complete.  Listen  closely.  One  week 
from  to-day,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  you  must  be  in 
Manin's  drug-store.  Directly  across  the  street  you  will 
see  two  negroes  with  three  horses.  At  fifteen  minutes  past 
ten  walk  out  San  Rafael  Street  to  the  edge  of  the  city, 
where  the  hospital  stands.  The  negroes  will  follow  you. 
There  is  a  fort  near  by — " 

"I  know." 

"  It  commands  the  road.  You  will  be  challenged  if  you 
pass  it,  so  turn  in  at  the  hospital.  But  do  not  enter  the 
gates,  for  the  negroes  will  overtake  you  at  that  point. 
They  will  stop  to  adjust  the  saron  of  the  lead  horse. 
That  will  be  your  signal;  mount  him  and  ride  fast.  The 
Spaniards  will  fire  at  you,  but  if  you  are  hit  one  of  the 
blacks  will  take  you  on  his  horse.  If  one  of  them  is  hit 
or  his  horse  falls  you  must  stop  and  take  him  up.  Ride 
out  half  a  mile  and  you  will  find  a  band  of  Insurrectos 
in  the  woods  at  the  right.  They  know  you  are  coming. 
Now,  adois  and  good  luck." 

120 


O'REILLY   TALKS    HOG   LATIN 

With  a  smile  and  a  quick  grip  of  the  hand  the  messenger 
walked  swiftly  away.  O'Reilly  returned  to  his  hotel. 

At  last!  One  week,  and  this  numbing,  heartbreaking 
delay  would  end;  he  would  be  free  to  take  up  his  quest. 
O'Reilly  choked  at  the  thought;  the  blood  drummed  in 
his  ears.  Rosa  would  think  he  was  never  coming;  she 
would  surely  believe  that  his  heart  had  changed.  As  if  it 
could!  "OGod!  Come  quickly,  if  you  love  me."  Well, 
a  week  was  only  seven  days.  He  longed  to  risk  those 
Spanish  bullets  this  very  hour. 

But  those  seven  days  were  more  than  a  week,  they  were 
seven  eternities.  The  hours  were  like  lead;  O'Reilly 
could  compose  his  mind  to  nothing;  he  was  in  a  fever 
of  impatience. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  compelled  to  see  a  good  deal  of 
Leslie  Branch.  The  reporter  was  anything  but  cheerful 
company,  for,  believing  firmly  in  the  steady  progress  of 
his  malady,  he  was  weighed  down  by  the  deepest  melan 
choly.  The  fellow  was  a  veritable  cave  of  despair;  he 
voiced  never-ceasing  complaints;  nothing  suited  him;  and 
but  for  something  likable  in  the  man — an  effect  due  in 
part  to  the  fact  that  his  chronic  irritation  took  amusing 
forms — he  would  have  been  an  intolerable  bore.  To 
cheer  him  up  was  quite  impossible,  and  although  it 
seemed  to  Johnnie  that  the  Cuban  climate  agreed  with 
him  and  that  he  lacked  only  strength  of  will  to  cheat 
the  grave,  the  mere  suggestion  of  such  a  thought  was 
offensive  to  the  invalid.  He  construed  every  optimistic 
word,  every  effort  at  encouragement,  either  as  a  reflection 
upon  his  sincerity  or  as  the  indication  of  a  heartless  in 
difference  to  his  sufferings.  He  continued  to  talk  wist 
fully  about  joining  the  Insurrectos,  and  O'Reilly  would 
have  been  glad  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  realizing  his 
fantastic  ambition  to  "taste  the  salt  of  life"  had  it  been 
in  his  power;  but,  since  he  himself  depended  upon  friends 
unknown  to  him,  he  did  not  dare  to  risk  complicating 
9  121 


RAINBOW'S    END 

matters.  In  fact,  he  did  not  even  tell  Branch  of  his  coming 
adventure. 

The  day  of  days  dawned  at  last,  and  Johnnie  was 
early  at  Manin's  soda-fountain,  drinking  insipid  beverages 
and  anxiously  watching  the  street.  In  due  time  the 
negroes  appeared,  their  straw  sarons  laden  with  produce 
which  they  innocently  disposed  of.  O'Reilly  began  to 
consult  his  watch  with  such  frequency  that  the  druggist 
joked  him. 

Manin's  banter  was  interrupted  by  a  bugle-call.  Down 
the  street  came  perhaps  two  hundred  mounted  troops. 
They  wheeled  into  San  Rafael  Street  at  a  gallop  and 
disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  suburbs. 

"Now  what  does  that  mean?"  murmured  the  druggist. 
"Wait  here  while  I  go  to  the  roof  where  I  can  see  some 
thing." 

O'Reilly  tried  to  compose  himself ,  meanwhile  becoming 
aware  of  a  growing  excitement  in  the  street.  Pedestrians 
had  halted,  shopkeepers  had  come  to  their  doors,  questions 
were  flying  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Then  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  fort  at  the  end  of  San  Rafael  Street  sounded  a 
faint  rattling  fusillade,  more  bugle-calls,  and  finally  the 
thin,  distant  shouting  of  men. 

"Rebels!"  some  one  cried. 

"Dios  mio,  they  are  attacking  the  city!'" 

"They  have  audacity,  eh?" 

The  roofs  were  black  with  people  now.  Manin  came 
hurrying  down  into  the  store. 

" Something  has  gone  wrong,"  he  whispered.  "They're 
fighting  out  yonder  in  the  woods.  There  has  been  some 
treachery." 

"It  is  ten-fifteen,"  said  O'Reilly.     "I  must  be  going." 

Manin  stared  at  him.     "You  don't  understand — " 

"Those  black  fellows  are  getting  their  horses  ready. 
I'm  going." 

The  druggist  tried  to  force  Johnnie  into  a  chair.  4 '  Mad- 

122 


O'REILLY   TALKS    HOG   LATIN 

man!"  he  panted.  "I  tell  you  our  friends  have  been 
betrayed;  they  are  retreating.  Go  back  to  your  hotel 
quickly." 

For  the  first  time  during  their  acquaintance  Manin 
heard  the  good-natured  American  curse;  O'Reilly's  blue 
eyes  were  blazing;  he  had  let  go  of  himself  completely. 

"I'm  going!"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "All  the  damned 
Spaniards  in  Cuba  won't  stop  me.  God!  I've  waited 
too  long — I  should  have  made  a  break — " 

"Idiot!"  stormed  the  druggist.  "You  wish  to  die, 
eh?" 

O'Reilly  ripped  out  another  oath  and  fought  off  the 
other's  restraining  hands. 

"Very  well,  then,"  cried  Manin,  "but  have  some 
thought  of  us  who  have  risked  our  lives  for  you.  Sup 
pose  you  should  escape?  How  would  our  troops  receive 
you  now?  Would  they  not  think  you  had  cunningly 
arranged  this  trap?" 

A  light  of  reason  slowly  reappeared  in  the  younger 
man's  eyes. 

" No !"  Manin  pressed  his  advantage.  "You  must  wait 
until — "  He  broke  off  abruptly  and  stepped  behind  his 
counter,  for  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  a  Spanish  lieutenant 
had  entered  the  store. 

The  new-comer  walked  directly  to  O'Reilly;  he  was  a 
clean-cut,  alert  young  fellow.  After  a  searching  glance 
around  the  place  he  spoke  in  a  voice  audible  to  both 
men: 

"Senor,  you  are  in  danger.  To-night,  at  midnight,  you 
will  be  arrested.  I  beg  of  you  to  see  that  there  is  nothing 
incriminating  in  your  possession." 

O'Reilly's  face  betrayed  his  amazement.  "Arrested? 
What  for?  On  what  charge — " 

The  stranger  shrugged.  "I  don't  know.  That  news 
paper  man  will  be  arrested  at  the  same  moment,  so  you 
had  better  warn  him.  But  be  careful  where  and  how  you 

123 


RAINBOW'S    END 

do  so,  for  all  his  movements  are  watched,  all  his  words  are 
overheard." 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  this — you?  Is  it  some  scheme 
to — to  incriminate  me?"  O'Reilly  inquired. 

Manin  was  leaning  over  the  counter,  his  face  drawn  with 
anxiety,  his  lips  framing  the  same  question. 

"No!"  The  lieutenant  shook  his  head.  "I  am  a 
friend — a  Cuban,  in  spite  of  this  uniform.  If  you  repeat 
my  words  I  shall  be  shot  within  the  hour.  I  implore 
you" — his  voice  became  more  urgent — "to  heed  my 
warning.  I  don't  know  what  you  had  to  do  with  this 
skirmish  out  San  Rafael  Street,  but  a  short  time  ago  a 
message  came  from  the  fortina  that  Insurrectos  were  in 
the  woods  close  by.  I  hope  it  will  not  prove  to  be  a  bloody 
encounter.  And  now  remember — midnight !' '  He  bowed, 
turned  to  the  door,  and  was  gone. 

Manin  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Caramba!  He  gave 
me  a  fright :  I  thought  my  time  had  come.  But  what  did 
I  tell  you,  eh?" 

"That  fellow  is  a  Cuban  spy!" 

"No  doubt.  We  have  many  friends.  Well!  You  see 
what  would  have  happened  if  you  had  tried  to  go.  Now 
then,  you  must  prepare  yourself  for  the  worst." 

Perhaps  a  half-hour  later  O'Reilly  saw  the  cavalry 
squadron  returning  to  its  barracks.  The  men  were 
laughing;  they  were  shouting  brief  boastful  accounts  of 
their  encounter  to  the  people  on  the  sidewalks.  Two  of 
them  were  sick  and  white;  they  lurched  in  their  saddles, 
and  were  supported  by  their  comrades,  but  it  was  not 
upon  them  that  the  eyes  of  the  onlookers  centered. 
Through  the  filth  of  the  street  behind  the  cavalcade 
trailed  a  limp  bundle  of  rags  which  had  once  been  a  man. 
It  was  tied  to  a  rope  and  it  dragged  heavily;  its  limbs 
were  loose;  its  face,  blackened  by  mud,  stared  blindly 
skyward. 

O'Reilly  gazed  at  the  object  with  horrified  fascination; 

124 


O'REILLY   TALKS   HOG   LATIN 

then  with  a  sudden  sick  feeling  of  dizziness  he  retired  to 
his  room,  asking  himself  if  he  were  responsible  for  that 
poor  fellow's  death. 

Meanwhile  the  citizens  of  Puerto  Principe  looked  on 
with  stony  eyes.  There  was  no  cheering  among  them, 
only  a  hush  in  their  chatter,  above  which  sounded  the 
rattle  of  accoutrements,  the  clump-clump  of  hoofs,  and 
the  exultant  voices  of  the  Spanish  troopers. 

For  some  reason  or  other  Leslie  Branch  was  nowhere 
to  be  found;  his  room  was  locked  and  no  one  had  seen 
him;  hence  there  was  no  possibility  of  warning  him,  until 
that  evening,  when  he  appeared  while  O'Reilly  was  making 
a  pretense  of  eating  dinner. 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been?"  the  latter  inquired, 
anxiously. 

"  Been  getting  out  my  weekly  joke  about  the  revolution. 
Had  to  write  up  this  morning's  '  battle.'  Couldn't  work 
in  my  room,  so  I — " 

"Sit  down;  and  don't  jump  when  I  tell  you  what  has 
happened.  We're  going  to  be  pinched  at  midnight." 

"Why  midnight?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  that's  the  fashionable  hour  for 
military  calls." 

"What's  it  all  about?" 

"I  guess  they  don't  like  us.  Have  you  got  anything 
incriminating  about  you?" 

"N-no!  Nothing,  except  my  citizen's  papers  and — a 
letter  of  introduction  to  General  Maximo  Gomez." 

O'Reilly  suddenly  lost  what  appetite  remained  to  him. 
"Nothing  except  a  letter  to  General  Gomez!"  he  cried. 
"Good  Lord,  Branch!  Were  you  ever  shot  at  sunrise?" 

The  reporter  coughed  dismally.  "N-no!  It's  too 
damp.  I  suppose  you  mean  to  hint  I'd  better  destroy 
that  letter,  eh?" 

"Just  as  quickly  as  possible.    Where  is  it?" 

"In  my  room." 

125 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Hm-m!  Then  I'm  not  sure  you'll  have  a  chance  to 
destroy  it."  O'Reilly  was  thinking  rapidly.  "From 
what  I  was  told  I  suspect  you  are  being  watched  even 
there." 

"  Bullets !    I  thought  as  much." 

"Would  you  mind  using  some  other  oath?"  O'Reilly 
broke  out,  irritably.  "I've  always  considered  'bullets' 
weak  and  ineffective,  but — it  has  a  significance." 

"There's  a  new  lodger  in  the  room  next  to  me.  I've 
heard  him  moving  around.  I'll  bet  he's  got  a  peephole 
in  the  wall."  Branch  was  visibly  excited. 

"Quite  likely.  I  have  the  same  kind  of  a  neighbor; 
that  is  he  watching  us  now." 

Leslie  cast  a  hostile  eye  at  the  man  his  friend  indicated. 
"Looks  like  a  miserable  spy,  doesn't  he?  But,  say,  how 
am  I  going  to  make  away  with  that  letter?" 

"I'm  trying  to  think,"  said  Johnnie.  After  a  time  he 
rose  from  the  table  and  the  two  strolled  out.  Johnnie  was 
still  thinking. 

When  the  two  arrived  at  Branch's  quarters  O'Reilly 
scrutinized  the  room  as  closely  as  he  dared,  and  then  sat 
for  some  time  idly  gossiping.  Both  men  were  under  a 
considerable  strain,  for  they  thought  it  more  than  likely 
that  hostile  eyes  were  upon  them.  It  gave  them  an  uncom 
fortable  thrill;  and  while  it  seemed  a  simple  thing  to  burn 
that  letter  of  introduction,  they  realized  that  if  their  sus 
picions  were  correct  such  a  procedure  would  only  serve 
to  deepen  their  difficulties.  Nothing  they  could  later  say 
would  explain  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  authorities  so 
questionable  an  act.  The  mere  destruction  of  a  mysterious 
document,  particularly  at  this  late  hour,  would  look  alto 
gether  too  queer;  it  might  easily  cause  their  complete 
undoing.  Inasmuch  as  his  enemies  were  waiting  only  for 
an  excuse  to  be  rid  of  him,  O'Reilly  knew  that  deportation 
was  the  least  he  could  expect,  and  at  the  thought  his 
fingers  itched  to  hold  that  letter  over  the  lamp-chimney. 

126 


O'REILLY   TALKS    HOG   LATIN 

Imprisonment,  almost  any  punishment,  was  better  than 
deportation.  That  would  mean  beginning  all  over  again. 

While  he  was  talking  he  used  his  eyes,  and  finally 
a  plan  suggested  itself.  To  make  doubly  sure  that  his 
words  would  not  be  understood  he  inquired,  casually: 

"  Do  you  speak  any  foreign  languages?" 

' '  Sure !    Spanish  and — hog  Latin. ' ' 

In  spite  of  himself  O'Reilly  grinned;  then  making  use 
of  that  incoherent  derangement  of  syllables  upon  the  use 
of  which  every  American  boy  prides  himself,  he  directed 
Branch's  attention  to  the  tiles  of  the  roof  overhead. 

The  reporter's  wits  were  sharp;  his  eyes  brightened; 
he  nodded  his  instant  understanding.  The  house  had  but 
one  story,  its  roof  was  constructed  of  the  common,  half- 
round  Cuban  tiling,  each  piece  about  two  feet  long. 
These  tiles  were  laid  in  parallel  rows  from  ridge-pole  to 
eave,  and  these  rows  were  locked  together  by  other  tiling 
laid  bottom  side  up  over  them.  Where  the  convex  faces 
of  the  lower  layer  overlapped,  after  the  fashion  of  shingles, 
were  numerous  interstices  due  to  imperfections  in  manu 
facture;  more  than  one  of  these  was  large  enough  to  form 
a  hiding-place  for  a  letter. 

Continuing  to  disguise  his  language,  O'Reilly  directed 
his  companion  to  open  the  table  drawer  in  which  the  un 
welcome  document  reposed  and  to  see  that  it  was  where  he 
could  instantly  lay  hands  upon  it  in  the  dark.  Branch 
did  as  he  was  told. 

For  some  time  longer  they  talked;  then  they  rose  as  if 
to  leave  the  room.  O'Reilly  took  his  stand  near  the  door 
and  directly  beneath  the  most  promising  crevice  in  the 
roof,  which  at  this  point  was  perhaps  nine  feet  from  the 
floor. 

Branch  stooped  over  the  table  and  breathed  into  the 
lamp-chimney ;  the  room  was  plunged  into  darkness.  There 
followed  a  faint  rustling  of  paper;  the  next  instant  he 
was  at  O'Reilly's  side.  Stooping,  Johnnie  seized  him 

127 


RAINBOW'S    END 

about  the  knees  and  lifted  him.  There  was  the  briefest 
pause;  then  feeling  a  pinch  upon  his  shoulder,  O'Reilly 
lowered  his  burden  noiselessly,  and  the  two  men  left  the 
room. 

When  they  were  safely  out  in  the  street  Branch  rubbed 
his  head  and  complained:  "Bullets,  you're  strong!  You 
nearly  broke  a  rafter  with  my  head.  But  I  guess  I  got 
'em  out  of  sight." 

"  Them?" 

"Yes.  I  hid  my  American  'papers,'  too.  These 
Dons  are  sore  on  Yankees,  you  know.  I'm  going  to  be 
an  Englishman,  and  you'd  better  follow  suit.  I'm  the — 
the  youngest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Pawtucket,  and  you'd 
better  tell  'em  your  uncle  was  the  Duke  of  Ireland,  or 
something." 


XI 

THE  HAND  OP  THE   CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

ON  the  stroke  of  midnight  O'Reilly  was  arrested. 
After  a  thorough  search  of  his  person  and  his  prem 
ises  he  was  escorted  to  Government  headquarters,  where 
he  found  Leslie  Branch. 

The  invalid  looked  taller,  thinner,  more  bloodless  than 
ever,  and  his  air  of  settled  gloom  admirably  became  the 
situation. 

"Hello,  Earl.    What  luck?"  Johnnie  flashed  at  him. 

"Good!" 

An  officer  sharply  commanded  them  to  be  silent. 

There  ensued  a  long  delay,  introduced,  perhaps,  for  its 
effect  upon  the  prisoners;  then  they  were  led  into  a  large 
room  where,  it  seemed,  the  entire  staff  of  the  Spanish 
garrison  was  waiting.  It  was  an  imposing  collection  of 
uniforms,  a  row  of  grim  faces  and  hostile  eyes,  which  the 
two  Americans  beheld.  Spread  out  upon  a  table  in  front 
of  the  officers  were  the  personal  belongings  of  both  men. 

The  prisoners  were  ordered  to  stand  side  by  side,  facing 
their  accusers.  Then  each  in  turn  was  subjected  to  a 
rigorous  examination.  Owing  to  his  acquaintance  with 
Spanish,  O'Reilly  was  able  to  defend  himself  without  the 
aid  of  an  interpreter.  He  began  by  asserting  that  he  had 
come  to  Cuba  for  his  health,  and  declared  that  he  had 
endeavored  at  all  times  since  his  arrival  to  conduct  him 
self  in  strict  conformity  with  local  regulations.  If  in  any 
way  he  had  offended,  he  had  not  done  so  intentionally. 

129 


RAINBOW'S    END 

He  denied  having  the  remotest  connection  with  the  rebels, 
and  demanded  an  explanation  of  his  arrest. 

But  his  plausible  words  did  not  in  the  least  affect  his 
hearers.  General  Antuna,  the  comandante,  a  square- 
faced  man  with  the  airs  of  a  courtier,  but  with  the  bold, 
hard  eyes  of  a  fighter,  leaned  forward,  saying: 

"So  you  suffer  from  ill  health,  senor?" 

"I  do,  severely.    Rheumatism." 

The  general  nodded.  "Three  days  ago  you  were  over 
taken  by  a  rain-storm  while  walking  through  the  city." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  the  rain  had  passed,  you  returned  to  your  hotel. 
At  the  junction  of  San  Rafael  and  Estrella  streets  a  pool 
of  water  had  gathered  and  you  leaped  it.  Am  I  right?" 

"No  doubt." 

General  Antuna  consulted  a  report  before  him.  "That 
pool  measured  six  feet  four  inches  in  width.  Do  you  ask 
me  to  believe  that  a  person  suffering  from  rheumatism 
could  do  that?" 

Leslie  Branch  shifted  his  weight  and  wet  his  lips,  but 
O'Reilly  only  shrugged  impatiently.  ' '  My  dear  General," 
said  he,  "did  you  never  experience  a  neuralgia?  Well 
then,  was  the  pain  continuous?  In  this  climate  my 
affliction  troubles  me  very  little.  That  is  why  I  remain 
here." 

From  among  the  articles  in  front  of  him  the  general 
selected  a  solitary  44-caliber  revolver  cartridge  and, 
holding  it  up,  said: 

"What  do  you  say  to  this?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say.    Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"It  was  found  in  the  cloth  pocket  of  your  valise." 

O'Reilly  frowned;  then  a  light  of  understanding  irradi 
ated  his  frank  countenance.  "It  must  have  lain  there 
ever  since  I  left  Matanzas,  three  months  ago." 

"Ha !  Matanzas !"  fiercely  ejaculated  a  colonel.  "  What 
were  you  doing  in  Matanzas?" 

130 


HAND    OF    THE    CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

It  was  unnecessary  to  prevaricate  now.  Johnnie  told 
of  his  earlier  connection  with  the  Carter  Importing  Com 
pany,  gave  names,  dates,  and  facts  to  bear  out  his  state 
ments,  and  challenged  his  accusers  to  verify  them. 

Undoubtedly  some  of  his  hearers  were  impressed,  but 
they  were  by  no  means  convinced  of  the  innocence  of  his 
present  purpose,  and,  in  fact,  the  ferocious  colonel  seemed 
to  regard  past  residence  in  Cuba  as  proof  conclusive  of  a 
present  connection  with  the  rebels.  Johnnie  gathered 
that  he  was  suspected  of  being  one  of  those  American 
engineers  who  were  reported  to  have  been  engaged  to 
instruct  the  enemy  in  the  use  of  explosives :  his  inquisitors 
did  their  best  to  wring  such  an  admission  from  him  or  to 
entrap  him  into  the  use  of  some  technical  phrase,  some 
slip  of  the  tongue  which  would  verify  their  suspicions. 
They  even  examined  his  hands  with  minutest  care,  as  if 
to  find  some  telltale  callous  or  chemical  discoloration 
which  would  convict  him.  Then  finally,  to  give  him  the 
lie  absolute,  the  aggressive  colonel  seized  a  nickel- 
plated  atomizer  from  the  table  and  brandished  it  trium 
phantly  before  the  young  men's  eyes. 

"Enough  of  this  pretense!"  he  cried.  "What  is  this 
instrument,  eh?" 

"It  is  evidently  an  atomizer,  a  nasal  syringe.  I  never 
saw  it  before." 

"It's  mine,"  said  Leslie  Branch;  but  the  colonel  did 
not  heed  the  interruption. 

"Ha!    And  pray  explain  its  use." 

Johnnie  undertook  to  do  so,  but  it  was  plain  that  his 
words  carried  no  conviction,  for  his  mocking  inquisitor 
gave  a  loud  snort  and  gestured  eloquently  to  his  com 
mander.  "There  you  have  it!"  he  declared,  proudly. 
"This  impostor  betrays  himself." 

The  other  officers  were  eying  the  unfamiliar  article 
curiously;  one  of  them  ventured  gingerly  to  handle  it; 
they  exchanged  whispers. 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"What  do  you  call  it?"  the  general  inquired,  leaning 
forward. 

This  was  the  colonel's  moment.  "I  will  tell  you!"  he 
said,  with  a  sneer  at  O'Reilly.  "I  am  something  of  a 
genius  at  mechanical  inventions,  and  therefore  I  am  not  for 
a  moment  deceived  by  this  fellow's  common  lies.  This ' ' — 
he  paused  dramatically  and  held  his  brother  officers  with 
a  burning  glance — "this  instrument,  in  my  opinion,  was 
devised  for  the  purpose  of  injecting  fulminate  of  mercury 
into  dynamite." 

There  was  a  breathless  hush.  The  Spaniards  stared  at 
the  little  syringe  with  amazement. 

"And  how  does  it  operate?"  queried  one. 

"It  is  one  of  those  ingenious  Yankee  contrivances. 
I  have  never  seen  one  quite  like  it,  but  my  intelligence 
makes  its  principle  plain.  Evidently  one  inserts  the  tube 
into  the  dynamite,  so,  and  presses  the  bulb — " 

There  came  a  loud  cry  from  General  Antuna,  who  had 
bent  closer;  he  clapped  his  hands  to  his  face  and  staggered 
from  his  chair,  for  in  suiting  his  action  to  his  words  the 
colonel  had  squeezed  the  bulb,  with  the  result  that  a  spray 
of  salt  water  had  squirted  fairly  into  his  superior  officer's 
interested  and  attentive  countenance. 

"  My  eyes !  Dios  mio !  I  am  blinded  for  life !' '  shouted 
the  unhappy  general,  and  his  subordinates  looked  on, 
frozen  with  consternation. 

The  author  of  this  calamity  blanched;  he  was  stricken 
dumb  with  horror. 

Some  one  cried:  "A  doctor,  quickly.  Jesus  Cristo! 
Such  carelessness!" 

"  This  is  terrible !' '  another  stammered.  "  It  will  explode 
next." 

There  was  a  concerted  scramble  away  from  the  table. 

Leslie  Branch  laughed — it  was  the  first  time  that 
O'Reilly  had  ever  heard  him  give  audible  evidence  of 
amusement.  His  reedy  frame  was  shaken  as  by  a  painful 

132 


HAND    OF    THE    CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

spasm;  his  colorless  face  was  distorted,  and  from  his  lips 
issued  queer,  hysterical  barks  and  chortles.  "Tell  'em 
it's  nothing  but  brine,"  he  said,  chokingly. 

When  this  welcome  intelligence  had  been  translated, 
and  when  the  general  had  proved  it  to  be  true,  there  was  a 
great  sigh  of  relief,  followed  by  a  subdued  titter  at  the 
colonel's  expense.  The  latter  was  chagrined.  Having 
made  himself  and  the  comandante  ridiculous,  he  took 
refuge  behind  an  assumption  of  somber  and  offended 
dignity.  But  it  was  plain  that  he  still  considered  these 
Americans  dangerous  people,  and  that  his  suspicions  were 
as  keen  as  ever. 

The  interruption  served  to  end  O'Reilly's  ordeal,  for 
the  moment  at  least,  and  attention  was  now  turned  to  his 
companion.  It  was  evident  from  the  first  that  Branch's 
case  was  hopeless.  He  readily  acknowledged  himself  to 
be  a  newspaper  writer,  and  admitted  having  sent  articles 
for  publication  through  the  mails.  This  was  quite  enough ; 
from  the  attitude  of  the  military  men  it  promised  to  go 
hard  with  him.  But  he  sprung  a  surprise  by  boldly  pro 
claiming  himself  an  English  citizen  and  warning  his 
captors  not  to  treat  him  with  the  contempt  or  with  the 
severity  they  reserved  for  Americans.  Curiously  his 
words  had  an  effect.  Judgment  for  the  moment  was 
suspended,  and  the  two  prisoners  were  led  away,  after 
which  another  delay  ensued. 

At  last  O'Reilly  was  recalled ;  but  when  he  re-entered  the 
big  room  he  found  General  Antuna  awaiting  him,  alone. 

"  Permit  me  to  apologize  for  the  inconvenience  we  have 
put  you  to,"  the  comandante  began. 

"Then  am  I  free?" 

"You  are." 

"I  thank  you." 

The  general's  hard  eyes  gleamed.  "  Personally  I  at  no 
time  put  faith  in  the  idea  that  you  are  a  powder  expert," 
said  he.  "No.  I  had  my  own  suspicions  and  I  regret 

133 


RAINBOW'S    END 

to  say  this  inquiry  has  not  in  the  least  served  to  lessen 
them." 

"Indeed?  May  I  ask  of  what  you  suspect  me?" 
Johnnie  was  genuinely  interested. 

The  general  spoke  with  force  and  gravity:  "Mr. 
O'Reilly,  I  believe  you  to  be  a  far  greater  menace  to  the 
interests  of  my  country  than — well,  than  a  score  of 
dynamite  experts.  I  believe  you  are  a  writer." 

The  American  smiled.  "Are  writers  such  dangerous 
people?" 

"That  altogether  depends  upon  circumstances.  The 
United  States  is  inclined  to  recognize  the  belligerency  of 
these  Cuban  rebels,  and  her  relations  with  Spain  are  be 
coming  daily  more  strained;  ill-feeling  grows,  and  all 
because  of  the  exaggerations,  the  mendacities,  that  have 
gone  forth  from  here  to  your  newspapers.  We  are  de 
termined  to  put  down  this  uprising  in  our  own  way;  we 
will  tolerate  no  foreign  interference.  War  is  never  a 
pleasant  thing,  but  you  journalists  have  magnified  its 
horrors  and  misrepresented  the  cause  of  Spain  until  you 
threaten  to  bring  on  another  and  a  more  horrible  combat. 
Now  then,  you  understand  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that 
you  are  more  dangerous  than  a  powder  expert;  that  your 
pen  can  do  more  injury,  can  cause  the  death  of  more 
Spanish  troops  than  could  a  regiment  of  Americans  with 
dynamite.  Your  English  friend  makes  no  secret  of  his 
business,  so  we  shall  escort  him  to  Neuvitas  and  see  him 
safely  out  of  the  country,  once  for  all." 

"And  yet  you  permit  me  to  remain?"  Johnnie  was 
surprised. 

"For  the  present,  yes!  That  is  my  official  message  to 
you.  Privately,  however" — the  speaker  eyed  O'Reilly 
with  a  disconcerting  expression — "I  would  like  to  warn 
you.  You  are  a  bright  fellow,  and  you  have  a  way  with 
you — there's  no  denying  it.  Under  other  conditions  it 
would  be  a  pleasure  to  know  you  better.  It  grieves  me, 

134 


HAND    OF   THE    CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

therefore,  to  warn  you  that  your  further  stay  in  Cuba  will 
not  be — pleasant.  I  almost  regret  that  there  is  no 
conclusive  evidence  against  you;  it  would  so  simplify 
matters.  Come  now,  hadn't  you  better  acknowledge 
that  I  have  guessed  your  secret?" 

O'Reilly's  perplexity  was  changing  to  dismay,  for  it 
seemed  to  him  he  was  being  played  with;  nevertheless,  he 
shook  his  head.  "I  would  only  be  deceiving  you,  sir," 
he  said. 

General  Antuna  sighed.  "Then  I  see  embarrass 
ments  ahead  for  both  of  us." 

"More  arrests?" 

"Not  necessarily.  Understand  me,  I  speak  as  one 
gentleman  to  another,  but — you  must  have  noticed  that 
Americans  are  unpopular  with  our  troops.  Eh  ?  They  are 
impulsive,  these  troopers;  accidents  cannot  be  prevented. 
Suppose  something  should  happen  to  you?  There  is  the 
trouble.  You  came  to  Cuba  to  enjoy  its  climate;  you 
cannot  be  expected  to  remain  indoors.  Of  course  not. 
Well!  Among  our  soldiers  are  many  new  recruits,  pa 
triotic,  enthusiastic  young  fellows,  but — careless.  They 
are  wretchedly  unproficient  marksmen,  and  they  haven't 
learned  the  dangers  of  promiscuous  rifle  fire.  They  are 
forever  shooting  at  things,  merely  to  score  a  hit.  Would 
you  believe  it?  Oh,  I  have  to  discipline  them  frequently. 
To  think  of  you  going  abroad  through  the  streets,  there 
fore,  worries  me  intensely." 

"Your  solicitude  is  touching."  O'Reilly  bowed  mock 
ingly;  but  disregarding  his  tone,  General  Antuna  pro 
ceeded  in  the  same  false  key: 

"Suppose  you  should  be  found  dead  some  day.  Im 
agine  my  feelings."  The  speaker's  tone  and  expression 
were  eloquent  of  concern.  "How  could  I  fix  the  re 
sponsibility?" 

"By  having  me  followed,  as  usual,  I  dare  say,"  O'Reilly 
said,  bitterly. 

135 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Oh,  you  will  of  course  be  shadowed  day  and  night; 
in  fact,  to  be  quite  sure  of  your — er — safety  I  shall  ask 
you  to  permit  one  of  my  men  to  accompany  you  every 
where  and  even  to  share  your  room.  We  shall  try  never 
to  lose  sight  of  you,  depend  upon  it.  But  these  detectives 
are  careless  fellows  at  best;  I  don't  trust  them.  Of  course 
such  precautions  would  exonerate  me  from  all  blame  and 
relieve  my  Government  from  any  responsibility  for  in 
jury  to  you,  but,  nevertheless,  it  would  tend  to  complicate 
relations  already  strained.  You  see  I  am  quite  honest 
with  you."  The  general  allowed  time  for  his  words  to 
sink  in;  then  he  sighed  once  more.  "I  wish  you  could 
find  another  climate  equally  beneficial  to  your  rheumatism. 
It  would  lift  a  great  load  from  my  mind.  I  could  offer 
you  the  hospitality  of  an  escort  to  Neuvitas,  and  your 
friend  Mr.  Branch  is  such  good  company  he  would  so 
shorten  your  trip  to  New  York!"  The  speaker  paused 
hopefully;  that  same  sardonic  flicker  was  on  his  lips. 

Johnnie  could  not  summon  an  answering  smile,  for  his 
heart  was  like  lead.  He  realized  now  the  utter  futility  of 
resistance;  he  knew  that  to  remain  in  Puerto  Principe 
after  this  thinly  veiled  warning  would  be  to  court  de 
struction — and  destruction  of  a  shocking  character  against 
which  it  would  be  impossible  to  guard.  Even  an  espionage 
stricter  than  that  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  would 
utterly  defeat  his  plans.  After  a  moment  of  thought  he 
said,  gravely: 

"I  appreciate  the  delicacy  of  your  consideration,  sir, 
and — I  shall  go." 

General  Antuna  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  grim  face  alight; 
striding  to  O'Reilly,  he  pressed  his  hands — he  seemed  upon 
the  point  of  embracing  him.  "I  thank  you!"  he  cried. 
"You  render  me  a  supreme  service.  See,  I  breathe  easy. 
Permit  me  to  offer  you  refreshment — one  of  our  famous 
Spanish  wines.  No?  Then  the  best  cigar  in  all  Cuba!" 

His  expressions  of  gratitude  were  fulsome ;  he  swore  that 

136 


HAND    OF   THE    CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

O'Reilly  had  done  him  the  greatest  favor  of  his  life,  but 
his  words  were  like  poison  to  his  hearer. 

"You  embarrass  me,"  O'Reilly  told  him,  endeavoring  to 
carry  off  his  defeat  with  some  show  of  grace.  In  his 
bitterness  he  could  not  refrain  from  adding,  "If  my 
accursed  affliction  returns,  perhaps  we  shall  meet  again 
before  long,  either  here  or  elsewhere." 

"Oh,  I  have  little  hope  for  such  a  pleasure,"  the  general 
quickly  replied.  "But  if  we  do  meet,  remember  we 
Spaniards  have  a  cure  for  rheumatism.  It  is  unpleasant, 
but  efficacious.  A  little,  nickel-plated  pill,  that  is  all." 
General  Antuna's  teeth  shone  for  an  instant.  "There  is 
another  remedy,  not  quite  so  immediate  in  its  effect,  but 
a  good  one.  I  have  tried  it  and  found  it  excellent. 
Drink  plenty  of  cocoanut-water !  That  is  the  Cuban 
remedy;  the  other  I  call  the  Spanish  cure.  Cocoanuts 
are  splendid.  I  shall  see  that  a  crate  of  the  choicest  fruit 
is  placed  aboard  your  steamer.  Accept  them  with  my 
compliments,  and  when  you  partake  of  them  think  of  me." 

O'Reilly  did  think  of  General  Antuna,  not  only  when  he 
was  escorted  to  the  railway  station  at  daylight,  but  when 
he  and  Branch  took  their  seats  and  their  guards  filed  in 
behind  them.  He  assured  himself  moodily  that  he  would 
not  cease  to  think  of  that  sardonic  old  joker  for  a  long 
time  to  come.  He  cursed  savagely ;  the  memory  of  these 
wasted  weeks,  the  narrow  margin  of  his  failure,  filled  him 
with  a  sick  feeling  of  dismay  and  impotence.  His  mind 
quailed  at  the  consequence  of  this  new  delay.  Where 
was  Rosa  now?  How  and  when  would  he  return?  With 
difficulty  he  resisted  the  impulse  to  fling  himself  from  the 
moving  train;  but  he  composed  himself  by  the  thought 
that  Cuba  was  not  fenced  about  with  bayonets.  He 
would  come  back. 

Leslie  Branch  broke  in  upon  his  gloomy  preoccupation 
by  asking,  "How  much  money  have  you?" 

"Less  than  ten  dollars." 
10  137 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"You're  rich.  My  landlady  cleaned  me.  Is  it  the 
practice  of  beneficent  monarchies  to  provide  transporta 
tion  for  their  departing  guests?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

Branch  coughed  dismally.  "It  '11  be  all  right  if  they 
just  buy  me  a  ticket  to  the  first  fog.  One  more  hemor 
rhage  and  I'll  wing  my  way  aloft.  God!  I'd  hate  to  be 
buried  at  sea." 

"Cheer  up !"  O'Reilly  reassured  him,  irritably.  "  There 
may  be  ice  aboard." 

"Icel"  Leslie  gasped.     "Oh,  bullets!" 

In  marked  contrast  to  the  difficulties  of  entering  Cuba 
was  the  ease  of  leaving  it.  A  ship  was  sailing  from 
Neuvitas  on  the  very  afternoon  when  the  two  Americans 
arrived,  and  they  were  hurried  aboard.  Not  until  the 
anchor  was  up  did  their  military  escort  depart  from  them. 

With  angry,  brooding  eyes  O'Reilly  watched  the  white 
houses  along  the  water-front  dwindle  away,  the  mangrove 
swamps  slip  past,  and  the  hills  rise  out  of  their  purple 
haze.  When  the  salt  breath  of  the  trades  came  to  his 
nostrils  he  turned  into  his  state-room,  and,  taking  the 
crate  of  cocoanuts  with  which  General  Antuna  had 
thoughtfully  provided  him,  he  bore  it  to  the  rail  and 
dropped  it  overboard. 

"Rheumatism  was  a  fool  disease,  anyhow,"  he  muttered. 

"Great  news!"  Este"ban  Varona  announced  one  day  as 
he  dismounted  after  a  foraging  trip  into  the  Yumuri. 
"We  met  some  of  Lacret's  men  and  they  told  us  that 
Spain  has  recalled  Captain-General  Campos.  He  ac 
knowledges  himself  powerless  to  stem  the  flood  of  Cuban 
revolution.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"Does  that  mean  the  end  of  the  war?"  Rosa  eagerly 
inquired. 

"Oh  no.  They  have  sent  a  new  man — he's  in  Havana 
now — a  dark  little,  old  fellow  who  never  smiles.  He  has  a 

138 


HAND   OF   THE   CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

long  nose  and  a  big  chin;  he  dresses  all  in  black — a  very 
'Jew-bird'  in  appearance,  from  what  I  hear.  His  name  is 
Weyler — Valeriano  Weyler,  Marquis  of  Teneriffe."  Es- 
t£ban  laughed  tolerantly,  for  as  yet  the  name  of  Weyler 
meant  nothing  to  him. 

"No  wonder  we  knew  nothing  about  it,"  said  the  girl. 
"We  hide  like  animals  and  we  see  no  one  for  weeks  at  a 
time.  I  sometimes  wonder  how  O'Reilly  will  manage  to 
find  us." 

"Oh,  he'll  manage  it  somehow,"  Este"ban  declared, 
cheerfully.  Then  he  ran  an  approving  eye  over  the  new 
bohio  and  the  new  garden  plot  which  Evangelina  had 
courageously  begun.  "We're  not  so  badly  fixed,  are  we? 
At  least  Colonel  Cobo  won't  find  us  so  readily  this  time." 

"Cobo!"  shuddered  the  girl.     "I  dream  aboist  him." 

Este"ban  scowled.  "I've  seen  him  at  a  distance  several 
times,  but  he  takes  pains  to  guard  himself  well  when  he 
comes  into  the  Yumuri.  They  say  he's  trying  to  destroy 
the  whole  valley." 

"He  will  never  forget." 

Este"ban  covertly  appraised  his  sister's  charms,  but  re 
specting  her  terror  of  Cobo  he  did  not  speak  his  thoughts. 
He  was  certain,  however,  that  Rosa  knew,  as  well  as  he, 
what  motive  lay  behind  the  fellow's  tireless  persecutions 
of  the  valley  dwellers;  for  in  spite  of  their  isolation  stories 
of  Cobo  had  reached  the  refugees — stories  that  had 
rendered  both  the  boy  and  the  girl  sick  with  apprehension. 
The  colonel,  it  seemed,  had  nearly  died  of  his  machete 
wound,  and  on  recovering  he  had  sworn  to  exterminate 
the  wasps  that  had  stung  him.  He  had  sworn  other 
oaths,  too,  oaths  that  robbed  Este"ban  of  his  sleep. 

Este"ban  idolized  his  sister;  her  loyalty  to  him  was  the 
most  precious  thing  of  his  life.  Therefore,  the  thought 
of  that  swarthy  ruffian  hunting  her  down  as  a  hound 
hangs  to  the  trail  of  a  doe  awoke  in  him  a  terrible  anger. 
Second  only  to  his  hatred  for  the  guerrilla  chief  was  his 


RAINBOW'S    END 

bitterness  against  the  traitor,  Pancho  Cueto,  who  had 
capped  his  villainy  by  setting  this  new  peril  upon  them; 
and  since  Rosa's  safety  and  his  own  honor  called  for  the 
death  of  both  men,  he  had  sworn  that  somehow  he  would 
effect  it.  It  was,  of  course,  a  difficult  matter  to  get  at 
the  Colonel  of  Volunteers,  but  Cueto  still  lived  in  the 
midst  of  his  blackened  fields,  and  it  was  against  him  that 
the  boy  was  now  planning  to  launch  his  first  blow. 

The  mention  of  Cobo's  name  had  momentarily  dis 
tracted  Est6ban's  thought's.  Now  he  collected  them  and 
said: 

"Wait!  I  am  forgetting  something.  See  what  La- 
cret's  men  handed  me;  they  are  posted  from  one  end  of 
the  island  to  the  other."  He  displayed  a  printed  bando, 
or  proclamation,  signed  by  the  new  captain-general,  and 
read  as  follows: 

"  All  inhabitants  of  the  country  districts,  or  those  who  reside 
outside  the  lines  of  fortifications  of  the  towns,  shall,  within  a 
period  of  eight  days,  enter  the  towns  which  are  occupied  by 
the  troops.  Any  individual  found  outside  the  lines  in  the 
country  at  the  eKpiration  of  this  period  shall  be  considered  a 
rebel  and  shall  be  dealt  with  as  such." 

It  was  that  inhuman  order  of  concentration,  the  result 
of  which  proved  to  be  without  parallel  in  military  history 
— an  order  which  gave  its  savage  author  the  name  of  being 
the  arch-fiend  of  a  nation  reputed  peculiarly  cruel. 
Neither  Esteban  nor  Rosa,  however,  grasped  the  full 
significance  of  the  proclamation;  no  one  could  have  done 
so.  No  eye  could  have  foreseen  the  merciless  butchery 
of  non-combatants,  the  starvation  and  death  by  disease 
of  hordes  of  helpless  men,  women,  and  children  herded 
into  the  cities.  Four  hundred  thousand  Cubans  driven 
from  their  homes  into  shelterless  prison  camps;  more  than 
two  hundred  thousand  dead  from  hunger  and  disease; 
a  fruitful  land  laid  bare  of  all  that  could  serve  as  food, 

140 


HAND    OF   THE    CAPTAIN-GENERAL 

and  changed  to  an  ash-gray  desolation;  gaunt  famine 
from  Oriente  to  Pinar  del  Rio — that  was  the  sequel  to 
those  printed  words  of  "Weyler  the  Butcher"  which 
Este'ban  read. 

"  Eight  days !    When  is  the  time  up  ?"  Rosa  inquired. 

"Bless  you,  this  is  already  two  weeks  old!"  her  brother 
told  her. 

"Why,  then,  it  means  that  we'll  be  shot  if  we're  caught." 

"Exactly!  But  we  sha'n't  be  caught,  eh?  Let  the 
timid  ones  take  fright  at  the  squeaks  of  this  old  black 
bird.  Let  them  go  into  the  cities:  we  shall  have  the 
more  to  eat!"  Este'ban  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand 
and  dropped  it.  "Meanwhile  I  jfhall  proceed  toward 
my  settlement  with  Pancho  Cueto."  His  very  careless 
confidence  gave  Rosa  courage. 


XII 

WHEN  THE   WORLD   RAN   BACKWARD 

ESTfiBAN  went  about  his  plan  of  destroying  Pancho 
Cueto  with  youthful  energy  and  zest.  First  he  se 
cured,  at  some  pains,  a  half-stick  of  dynamite,  a  cap  and 
fuse,  and  a  gallon  or  more  of  kerosene;  then  he  assembled 
his  followers  and  led  them  once  again  into  the  San  Juan. 

This  time  the  ride  to  La  Joya  was  longer  than  before, 
and  since  every  member  of  the  little  band  was  proscribed, 
Est^ban  insisted  upon  the  greatest  caution.  But  there 
was  little  need  of  especial  care,  for  the  country  was  already 
depopulated,  as  a  result  of  Weyler's  proclamation. 
Fields  were  empty,  houses  silent;  no  living  creatures 
stirred,  except  in  the  tree-tops,  and  the  very  birds  seemed 
frightened,  subdued.  It  struck  young  Varona  queerly. 
It  was  as  if  the  whole  land  was  in  mourning ;  he  saw  noth 
ing  but  blackbirds,  somber-hued  vultures,  dismal  Judea- 
birds  with  their  ebony  plumage  and  yellow  beaks.  Far 
up  the  valley  a  funeral  pall  of  smoke  hung  in  the  sky 
itself;  that  was  where  the  Spaniards  were  burning  the 
houses  of  those  too  slow  in  obeying  the  order  of  con 
centration. 

La  Joya,  however,  was  still  tenanted  when  early  in  the 
evening  its  rightful  owner  arrived;  the  house  and  some  of 
its  outbuildings  showed  lights.  Este"ban  concealed  his 
men.  While  the  horses  cropped  and  the  negroes  rested 
he  fitted  fuse  and  cap  to  his  precious  piece  of  dynamite. 
It  was  likely,  he  thought,  that  Cueto  had  provided  himself 

142 


THE   WORLD    RAN    BACKWARD 

with  a  body-guard,  and  knowing  the  plantation  house 
as  he  did,  he  had  no  intention  of  battering  weakly  at  its 
stout  ironwood  door  while  his  quarry  took  fright  and 
slipped  away. 

Now  while  Este"ban  was  thus  busied,  Pancho  Cueto 
was  entertaining  an  unwelcome  guest.  In  the  late  after 
noon  he  had  been  surprised  by  the  visit  of  a  dozen  or  more 
Volunteers,  and  inasmuch  as  his  relations  with  their 
colonel  had  been  none  of  the  friendliest  since  that  ill- 
starred  expedition  into  the  Yumuri,  he  had  felt  a  chill  of 
apprehension  on  seeing  the  redoubtable  Cobo  himself  at 
their  head. 

The  colonel  had  explained  that  he  was  returning  from  a 
trip  up  the  San  Juan,  taken  for  the  purpose  of  rounding 
up  those  inhabitants  who  had  been  dilatory  in  obeying 
the  new  orders  from  Havana.  That  smoke  to  the  south 
ward  was  from  fires  of  his  kindling:  he  had  burned  a  good 
many  crops  and  houses  and  punished  a  good  many  people, 
and  since  this  was  exactly  the  sort  of  task  he  liked  he  was 
in  no  unpleasant  mood.  He  had  demanded  of  Cueto 
lodging  for  himself  and  his  troop,  announcing  that  a  part 
of  his  command  was  somewhere  behind  and  would  rejoin 
him  later  in  the  night. 

Cueto  had  welcomed  his  visitor  in  all  humility;  he  put 
up  the  soldiers  in  the  bate  of  the  sugar-mill,  and  then 
installed  Cobo  in  his  best  room,  after  which  he  ransacked 
the  house  for  food  and  drink  and  tobacco. 

Later  he  and  the  colonel  sat  long  over  their  supper,  for 
the  latter's  exultant  humor  continued.  Cobo,  it  tran 
spired,  was  delighted  with  the  new  captain-general,  a  man 
of  blood  and  iron,  a  man  after  his  own  heart.  This  Wey- 
ler,  he  predicted,  would  put  an  end  to  the  insurrection; 
there  would  be  no  more  of  Campos's  weak,  merciful 
methods,  which  were,  in  reality,  nothing  less  than  en 
couragement  to  revolt.  Cueto,  of  course,  agreed. 

"We're  sweeping  the  country  as  with  a  broom,  and 


RAINBOW'S    END 

already  Matanzas  is  bulging  with  refugees,"  the  officer 
told  him.  "They  call  themselves  pacificos,  but  they 
carry  information  and  aid  our  enemies.  We'll  have  no 
more  of  that." 

"Will  it  not  be  a  great  expense  to  feed  so  many  people?" 
Cueto  ventured. 

"Let  them  feed  themselves.  Is  it  our  fault  that  they 
make  such  measures  necessary?  By  no  means.  Once 
we  have  them  safe,  we  shall  exterminate  all  whom  we 
encounter  in  the  country."  The  speaker  drank  deeply 
of  Cueto's  good  wine  and  smacked  his  lips.  "It's  the 
kind  of  work  I  like.  Extermination!  They  have  had 
their  warning.  From  now  on  we  shall  spare  neither  man, 
woman,  nor  child.  The  men  are  traitors,  the  women 
breed,  and  the  children  grow  up." 

Cueto  nodded  his  complete  approval  of  this  program. 
"Oh,  decidedly,"  said  he.  "This  spirit  of  violence  must 
be  stamped  out  or  none  of  us  will  be  safe.  Let  me  tell 
you  I  myself  live  in  constant  dread  of  that  young  villain, 
Varona.  I — hope  you  haven't  forgotten  him. ' ' 

"Forgotten  him?"  Colonel  Cobo  fingered  a  lately 
healed  scar  which  further  disfigured  his  ugly  face,  then 
he  cursed  frightfully.  "It's  by  God's  mercy  alone  that 
I'm  alive  to-night.  And  I  haven't  forgotten  the  girl, 
either.  She'll  have  to  come  in,  along  with  the  others. 
The  boy  may  stay  out,  but  she  can't."  He  licked  his 
lips.  "Wait  until  I  have  finished  with  this  valley. 
I'll  drive  the  Yumuri  next,  as  a  hunter  drives  a  thicket 
for  his  game,  and  nothing  will  slip  through." 

His  thoughts  once  turned  upon  Rosa,  the  colonel  could 
talk  of  little  else,  and  Cueto  realized  that  the  girl  had 
indeed  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him.  The  over 
seer  was  well  pleased,  and  when  Cobo  finally  took  himself 
off  to  bed  he  followed  in  better  spirits  than  he  had  enjoyed 
for  some  time.  For  one  thing,  it  was  agreeable  to  look 
forward  to  a  night  of  undisturbed  repose.  Pancho's  ap- 

144 


THE    WORLD    RAN    BACKWARD 

prehensions  had  fattened  upon  themselves,  and  he  had 
been  living  of  late  in  a  nightmare  of  terror. 

But  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  barely  closed  his  eyes 
when  he  was  awakened  by  a  tremendous  vibration  and 
found  himself  in  the  center  of  the  floor,  undecided  whether 
he  had  been  hurled  from  his  bed  or  whether  he  had  leaped 
thither.  Still  in  a  daze,  he  heard  a  shout  from  the 
direction  of  Cobo's  room,  then  a  din  of  other  voices,  fol 
lowed  by  a  rush  of  feet;  the  next  instant  his  door  was 
flung  back  and  he  saw,  by  the  light  of  high-held  torches, 
Este"ban  Varona  and  a  ragged  rabble  of  black  men. 
Cueto  knew  that  he  faced  death.  He  uttered  a  shrill 
scream  of  terror,  and,  seizing  the  revolver  which  was 
always  close  at  his  hand,  he  fired  blindly.  Then  his  foes 
were  upon  him.  What  happened  thereafter  took  but  an 
instant.  He  dodged  a  blow  from  Est6ban's  clubbed  rifle 
only  to  behold  the  flash  of  a  machete.  Crying  out  again, 
he  tried  to  guard  himself  from  the  descending  blade,  but 
too  late;  the  sound  of  his  hoarse  terror  died  in  his  throat, 
half  born. 

"Quick!  Soak  the  bed  with  oil  and  fire  it,"  Est6ban 
directed;  then  he  ran  out  into  the  hall  to  investigate  that 
other  shouting.  He  found  the  chamber  whence  it 
issued  and  tried  to  smash  the  door;  but  at  the  second 
blow  he  heard  a  gun-shot  from  within  and  the  wood 
splintered  outward  almost  into  his  face.  Simultaneously, 
from  somewhere  outside  the  house,  arose  the  notes  of 
a  Spanish  bugle-call. 

Young  Varona  waited  to  hear  no  more.  Nor  did  his 
men;  realizing  the  peril  into  which  they  had  been  led, 
they  bolted  from  the  house  as  fast  as  they  could  go. 
There  was  no  need  for  questions;  from  the  direction  of  the 
sugar-mill  came  bellowed  orders  and  the  sound  of  men 
shouting  to  their  horses.  Evidently  those  were  troops — 
and  trained  troops,  too,  for  they  took  no  time  to  saddle; 
they  were  up  and  mounted  almost  before  the  marauders 

H5 


RAINBOW'S    END 

had  gained  the  backs  of  their  own  animals.  There  was 
no  opportunity  to  choose  a  retreat  across  the  fields; 
Este'ban  spurred  down  the  driveway  toward  the  main 
calzada,  yelling  to  his  men  to  follow  him. 

The  approach  to  La  Joya  was  by  way  of  a  notable 
avenue,  perhaps  a  half-mile  in  length,  and  bordered  by 
tall,  even  rows  of  royal  palms.  These  stately  trees 
shaded  the  avenue  by  day  and  lent  it  a  cavern-like  gloom 
by  night.  Near  the  public  causeway  the  road  was  cut 
through  a  bit  of  rising  ground,  and  was  walled  by  steep 
banks  overgrown  with  vines. 

Into  the  black  tunnel  formed  by  the  palms  the  fugitives 
plunged,  with  the  clatter  of  hoofs  close  behind  them. 
Those  of  the  Volunteers  who  pressed  them  hardest  began 
to  shoot  wildly,  for  this  typically  Cuban  refusal  to  stand 
ground  enraged  them  beyond  measure. 

Est^ban's  party  would  doubtless  have  made  good  their 
escape  had  it  not  been  for  that  other  guerrillero  returning 
from  its  raid;  but,  as  it  happened,  the  two  forces  met  in 
the  sunken  road.  Nothing  but  the  darkness  and  the  head 
long  approach  of  the  fleeing  men  saved  them  from  imme 
diate  destruction,  for  the  collision  occurred  between 
banks  too  steep  for  a  horse  to  climb,  and  with  that  yelling 
pack  too  close  behind  to  permit  of  retreat. 

Instantly  there  began  a  blind  battle  in  these  desperately 
cramped  quarters.  After  the  first  moment  or  two  friend 
and  foe  were  indistinguishable  and  the  men  of  both 
parties  began  firing  or  thrusting  at  whatever  loomed 
nearest  out  of  the  gloom.  The  narrow  ravine  quickly 
became  a  place  of  utter  confusion,  a  volcano  of  blas 
phemies,  a  press  of  jostling,  plunging,  struggling  bodies. 
Horses  reared  and  bit  at  one  another.  Riders  fought 
stirrup  to  stirrup  with  clubbed  rifles  and  machetes; 
saddles  were  emptied  and  the  terrified  horses  bolted. 
Some  of  them  lunged  up  the  banks,  only  to  tumble  down 
again,  their  threshing  limbs  and  sharp-shod  hoofs  working 

146 


THE   WORLD    RAN    BACKWARD 

more  havoc  than  blows  from  old-time  battle-hammers. 
Meanwhile  those  of  Cobo's  men  who  had  ridden  out  from 
the  sugar-mill  naturally  attributed  this  new  uproar  to  a 
stand  of  their  enemies,  and  began  to  rake  the  road  with 
rifle  fire;  then,  in  obedience  to  the  commands  of  their 
half-clad  colonel,  they  charged.  A  moment  and  they 
were  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  their  returning  comrades. 
Spaniard  clashed  with  Spaniard,  and  somewhere  in  the 
me'le'e  the  six  marauders  battled  for  their  lives. 

Of  course,  after  the  first  moment  of  conflict,  Este"ban 
had  not  been  able  to  exert  the  least  control  over  his  men ; 
in  fact,  he  could  not  make  himself  heard.  Nor  could  he 
spare  the  breath  to  shout ;  he  was  too  desperately  engaged. 
When  the  full  truth  of  the  situation  dawned  upon  him 
he  gave  up  hope  for  his  life  and  at  first  merely  strove  to 
wreak  such  havoc  as  he  could.  Yet  while  some  of  his 
faculties  were  completely  numbed  in  the  stress  of  that 
white-hot  moment,  others  remained  singularly  clear. 
The  shock  of  his  surprise,  the  imminence  of  his  peril, 
rendered  him  dead  to  any  emotion  save  dismay,  and  yet, 
strangely  enough,  he  remembered  Rosa's  pressing  need 
for  him  and,  more  for  her  sake  than  for  his  own,  fought 
to  extricate  himself  from  the  confusion.  His  rifle  was 
empty,  he  had  its  hot  barrel  in  his  hands;  he  dimly  dis 
tinguished  Asensio  wielding  his  machete.  Then  he  found 
himself  down  and  half  stunned.  He  was  running  here 
and  there  to  avoid  lunging  horses;  he  was  tripping  and 
falling,  but  meanwhile,  as  opportunity  offered,  he  con 
tinued  to  use  his  clubbed  weapon.  Something  smote  him 
heavily,  at  last — whether  a  hoof  or  a  gun-stock  he  could 
not  tell — and  next  he  was  on  all-fours,  trying  to  drag  him 
self  out  of  this  rat-pit.  But  his  limbs  were  queerly  re 
bellious,  and  he  was  sick;  he  had  never  experienced  any 
thing  quite  like  this  and  he  thought  he  must  be  wounded. 
It  greatly  surprised  him  to  find  that  he  could  struggle 
upward  through  the  brambles,  even  though  it  was  hard 

H7 


RAINBOW'S    END 

work.  Men  were  fighting  all  around  and  below  him, 
meanwhile,  and  he  wondered  vaguely  what  made  them 
kill  one  another  when  he  and  his  negroes  were  all  dead  or 
dying.  It  seemed  very  strange — of  a  piece  with  the 
general  unreality  of  things — and  it  troubled  him  not  a 
little. 

At  last  he  gained  the  top  of  the  bank  and  managed  to 
assume  an  upright  position,  clinging  to  the  bole  of  a  palm- 
tree.  One  of  his  arms  was  useless,  he  discovered,  and  he 
realized  with  a  curious  shock  that  it  was  broken.  He  was 
bleeding,  too,  from  more  than  one  wound,  but  he  could 
walk,  after  a  fashion. 

He  was  inclined  to  stay  and  finish  the  fight,  but  he 
recollected  that  Rosa  would  be  waiting  for  him  and  that 
he  must  go  to  her,  and  so  he  set  out  across  the  fields, 
staggering  through  the  charred  cane  stubble.  The  night 
was  not  so  black  as  it  had  been,  and  this  puzzled  him 
until  he  saw  that  the  plantation  house  was  ablaze.  Flames 
were  belching  from  its  windows,  casting  abroad  a  lurid 
radiance;  and  remembering  Pancho  Cueto,  Este"ban 
laughed. 

By  and  by,  after  he  was  well  away,  his  numbness  passed 
and  he  began  to  suffer  excruciating  pain.  The  pain  had 
been  there  all  the  time,  so  it  seemed;  he  was  simply 
gaining  the  capacity  to  feel  it.  He  was  ready  to  die  now, 
he  was  so  ill;  moreover,  his  left  arm  dangled  and  got  in  his 
way.  Only  that  subconscious  realization  of  the  necessity 
to  keep  going  for  Rosa's  sake  sustained  him. 

After  a  while  he  found  himself  on  a  forest  trail;  then 
he  came  to  other  fields  and  labored  across  them.  Fortune 
finally  led  his  feet  down  into  a  creek-bed,  and  he  drank 
greedily,  sitting  upon  a  stone  and  scooping  the  water  up 
in  his  one  useful  hand.  He  was  a  long  time  in  quenching 
his  thirst,  and  a  longer  time  in  getting  up,  but  he  finally 
managed  this,  and  he  succeeded  thereafter  in  keeping  on 
his  feet.  Daylight  came  at  last  to  show  him  his  way. 

148 


THE   WORLD    RAN    BACKWARD 

More  than  once  he  paused,  alarmed,  at  voices  in  the 
woods,  only  to  find  that  the  sounds  issued  from  his  own 
throat. 

It  had  grown  very  hot  now,  so  hot  that  heat-waves 
obscured  his  vision  and  caused  the  most  absurd  forms  to 
take  shape.  He  began  to  hunt  aimlessly  for  water,  but 
there  was  none.  Evidently  this  heat  had  parched  the 
land,  dried  up  the  streams,  and  set  the  stones  afire.  It 
was  incredible,  but  true. 

Estdban  reasoned  that  he  must  be  near  home  by  this 
time,  for  he  had  been  traveling  for  days — for  years. 
The  country,  indeed,  was  altogether  unfamiliar;  he  could 
not  recall  ever  having  seen  the  path  he  trod,  but  for  that 
matter  everything  was  strange.  In  the  first  place  he 
knew  that  he  was  going  west,  and  yet  the  morning  sun 
persisted  in  beating  hotly  into  his  face !  That  alone  con 
vinced  him  that  things  had  gone  awry  with  the  world. 
He  could  remember  a  great  convulsion  of  some  sort, 
but  just  what  it  was  he  had  no  clear  idea!  Evidently, 
though,  it  had  been  sufficient  to  change  the  rotation  of 
the  earth.  Yes,  that  was  it ;  the  earth  was  running  back 
ward  upon  its  axis;  he  could  actually  feel  it  whirling 
under  his  feet.  No  wonder  his  journey  seemed  so  long. 
He  was  laboring  over  a  gigantic  treadmill,  balancing  like 
an  equilibrist  upon  a  revolving  sphere.  Well,  it  was  a 
simple  matter  to  stop  walking,  sit  down,  and  allow  him 
self  to  be  spun  backward  around  to  the  place  where  Rosa 
was  waiting.  He  pondered  this  idea  for  some  time,  until 
its  absurdity  became  apparent.  Undoubtedly  he  must 
be  going  out  of  his  head;  he  saw  that  it  was  necessary 
to  keep  walking  until  the  back-spin  of  that  treadmill 
brought  Rosa  to  him. 

But  the  time  came  when  he  could  walk  no  farther.  He 
tried  repeatedly  and  failed,  and  meanwhile  the  earth  spun 
even  more  rapidly,  threatening  to  whirl  him  off  into  space. 
It  was  a  terrible  sensation;  he  lay  down  and  hugged  the 

149 


THE    WORLD    RAN    BACKWARD 

ground,  clinging  to  roots  and  sobbing  weakly.  Rosa,  he 
knew,  was  just  around  the  next  bend  in  the  trail;  he  called 
to  her,  but  she  did  not  answer,  and  he  dared  not  attempt 
to  creep  forward  because  his  grip  was  failing.  He  could 
feel  his  fingers  slipping — slipping.  It  was  agony.  He 
summoned  his  last  atom  of  determination,  but  to  no  avail. 
He  gave  up  finally,  and  felt  himself  propelled  dizzily  out 
ward  into  immeasurable  voids.  His  last  thought,  as  he 
went  whirling  end  over  end  through  space,  was  of  his 
sister.  She  would  never  know  how  hard  he  had  tried 
to  reach  her. 


XIII 

CAPITULATION 

ATE  on  the  second  day  after  the  battle  Asensio  re- 
turned  to  his  bohio.  Rosa  and  Evangelina,  already 
frantic  at  the  delay,  heard  him  crying  to  them  while  he  was 
still  hidden  in  the  woods,  and  knew  that  the  worst  had 
happened.  There  was  little  need  for  him  to  tell  his  story, 
for  he  was  weaponless,  stained,  and  bloody.  He  had 
crossed  the  hills  on  foot  after  a  miraculous  escape  from 
that  ravine  of  death.  Of  his  companions  he  knew  nothing 
whatever;  the  mention  of  Este'ban's  name  caused  him  to 
beat  his  breast  and  cry  aloud.  He  was  weak  and  feverish, 
and  his  incoherent  story  of  the  midnight  encounter  was  so 
highly  colored  that  Rosa  nearly  swooned  with  horror. 

The  girl  stood  swaying  while  he  told  how  the  night  had 
betrayed  them,  how  he  had  wrought  incredible  feats  of 
valor  before  the  shifting  tide  of  battle  had  spewed  him 
out  the  end  of  the  sunken  road  and  left  him  half  dead  in 
the  grass.  Asensio  had  lain  there  until,  finding  himself 
growing  stronger,  he  had  burrowed  into  a  tangle  of  vines 
at  the  foot  of  a  wall,  where  he  had  remained  until  the 
fighting  ceased.  When  the  Spaniards  had  finally  dis 
covered  their  mistake  and  had  ceased  riding  one  another 
d6wn,  when  lights  came  and  he  heard  Colonel  Cobo  cursing 
them  like  one  insane,  he  had  wriggled  away,  crossed  the 
calzada,  and  hidden  in  the  woods  until  dawn.  He  had 
been  walking  ever  since;  he  had  come  home  to  die. 

Rosa  heard  only  parts  of  the  story,  for  her  mind  was 


RAINBOW'S    END 

numbed,  her  heart  frozen.  Her  emotion  was  too  deep  for 
tears,  it  paralyzed  her  for  the  time  being;  she  merely 
stood  staring,  her  dark  eyes  glazed,  her  ashen  lips  apart. 
Finally  something  snapped,  and  she  knew  nothing  more 
until  hours  afterward,  when  she  found  herself  upon  her 
comfortless  bed  with  Evangelina  bending  over  her.  All 
night  she  had  lain  inert,  in  a  merciful  stupor;  it  was  not 
until  the  next  morning  that  she  gradually  came  out  of  her 
coma. 

-  Then  it  was  that  the  negress  was  really  alarmed,  fearing 
that  if  the  girl  did  rally  her  mind  would  be  affected. 
But  Rosa  was  young  and,  despite  her  fragility  of  form,  she 
was  strong — too  strong,  it  seemed  to  her,  and  possessed  of 
too  deep  a  capacity  for  suffering.  How  she  ever  survived 
those  next  few  days,  days  when  she  prayed  hourly  to  die, 
was  a  mystery.  And  when  she  found  that  she  could  at 
last  shed  tears,  what  agony  I  The  bond  between  her  arid 
Estdban  had  been  stronger  than  usually  exists  between 
sister  and  brother;  he  had  been  her  other  self;  in  him 
she  had  centered  her  love,  her  pride,  her  ambition.  The 
two  had  never  quarreled;  no  angry  word  had  ever  passed 
between  them:  their  mutual  understanding,  moreover, 
had  been  almost  more  than  human,  and  where  the  one  was 
concerned  the  other  had  been  utterly  unselfish.  To  lose 
Est6ban,  therefore,  split  the  girl's  soul  and  heart  asunder; 
she  felt  that  she  could  not  stand  without  him.  Born  into 
the  world  at  the  same  hour,  welded  into  unity  by  their 
mother's  supreme  pain,  the  boy  and  girl  were  of  the  same 
flesh  and  spirit;  they  were  animated  by  the  same  life- 
current.  Never  had  the  one  been  ill  but  that  the  other 
had  suffered  corresponding  symptoms;  never  had  the  one 
been  sad  or  gay  but  that  the  other  had  felt  a  like  reaction. 
Personalities  so  closely  knit  together  are  not  uncommon, 
and  to  sever  them  is  often  dangerous. 

Into  Rosa's  life,  however,  there  had  come  one  interest 

which  she  could  not  share  with  her  twin — that  was  her 

152 


CAPITULATION 

love  for  O'Reilly.  Spanish-reared  women,  as  a  rule,  do 
not  play  with  love;  when  it  comes  they  welcome  it,  even 
though  it  be  that  first  infatuation  so  often  scorned  by 
older,  colder  people.  So  it  was  with  Rosa  Varona. 
Whatever  might  have  been  the  true  nature  of  her  first 
feeling  for  the  Irish-American,  suffering  and  meditation 
had  deepened  and  strengthened  it  into  a  mature  and 
genuine  passion.  As  the  wise  men  of  old  found  wisdom 
in  cave  or  desert,  so  Rosa  in  her  solitude  had  learned  the 
truth  about  herself.  Now,  in  the  hour  of  her  extremity, 
thoughts  of  O'Reilly  acted  as  a  potent  medicine.  Her 
hungry  yearning  for  him  and  her  faith  in  his  coming 
stimulated  her  desire  to  live,  and  so  aided  her  recovery. 

The  day  arrived  when  her  brain  was  normal  and  when 
she  could  creep  about  the  hut.  But  she  was  only  the 
ghost  of  the  girl  she  had  been;  she  seldom  spoke,  and 
she  never  smiled.  She  sat  for  hours  staring  out  into  the 
sunshine,  and  when  she  found  tears  upon  her  cheeks  she 
was  surprised,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  long  ago 
have  shed  the  very  last. 

Asensio,  likewise  recovered,  but  he,  too,  was  sadly 
changed.  There  was  no  longer  any  martial  spirit  in  him; 
he  feared  the  Spaniards,  and  tales  of  their  atrocities 
cowed  him. 

Then  Cobo  came  into  the  Yumuri.  The  valley,  already 
well-nigh  deserted,  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  smoke 
from  burning  fields  and  houses,  and  through  it  the  sun 
showed  like  a  copper  shield.  Refugees  passed  the  bohio, 
bound  farther  into  the  hills,  and  Asensio  told  the  two 
women  that  he  and  they  must  also  go.  So  the  three 
gathered  up  what  few  things  they  could  carry  on  their 
backs  and  fled. 

They  did  not  stop  until  they  had  gained  the  fastnesses 
of  the  Pan  de  Matanzas.  Here  they  built  a  shelter  and 
again  took  up  the  problem  of  living,  which  was  now  more 
difficult  than  ever. 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Asensio  would  not  have  been  greatly  inconvenienced 
by  the  change  had  he  been  alone,  for  certain  fruits  grew 
wild  in  the  forests,  and  the  earth,  where  the  Spaniards 
had  not  trod,  was  full  of  roots  upon  which  a  creature  of  his 
primitive  habits  could  have  managed  to  live.  But  ham 
pered  as  he  was  by  two  women,  one  of  whom  was  as 
delicate  as  a  flower,  Asensio  found  his  task  extremely  dif 
ficult.  And  it  grew  daily  more  difficult;  for  there  were 
other  people  here  in  the  woods,  and,  moreover,  the  country 
round  about  was  being  steadily  scoured  by  the  enemy,  who 
had  orders  to  destroy  every  living,  growing  thing  that  was 
capable  of  sustaining  human  life.  Stock  was  butchered 
and  left  to  rot,  trees  were  cut  down,  root-fields  burned. 
Weyler's  policy  of  frightfulness  was  in  full  sway,  and 
starvation  was  driving  its  reluctant  victims  into  his  net. 
Meanwhile  roving  bands  of  guerrillas  searched  out  and 
killed  the  stronger  and  the  more  tenacious  families. 

The  Pan  de  Matanzas,  so  called  because  of  its  resem 
blance  to  a  mighty  loaf  of  bread,  became  a  mockery  to  the 
hungry  people  cowering  in  its  shelter.  Bread!  Rosa 
Varona  could  not  remember  when  she  had  last  tasted  such 
a  luxury.  Raw  cane,  cocoanuts,  the  tasteless  fruita 
bomba,  roots,  the  pith  from  palm  tops,  these  were  her 
articles  of -diet,  and  she  did  not  thrive  upon  them.  She 
was  always  more  or  less  hungry.  She  was  ragged,  too, 
and  she  shivered  miserably  through  the  long,  chill  nights. 
Rosa  could  measure  the  change  in  her  appearance  only 
by  studying  her  reflection  from  the  surface  of  the  spring 
where  she  drew  water,  but  she  could  see  that  she  had  be 
come  very  thin,  and  she  judged  that  the  color  had  en 
tirely  gone  from  her  cheeks.  It  saddened  her,  for  O'Reil 
ly's  sake. 

Time  came  when  Asensio  spoke  of  giving  up  the  struggle 
and  going  in.  They  were  gradually  starving,  he  said,  and 
Rosa  was  ill;  the  risk  of  discovery  was  ever  present.  It 
was  better  to  go  while  they  had  the  strength  than  slowly 


CAPITULATION 

but  surely  to  perish  here.  He  had  heard  that  there  were 
twenty  thousand  reconcentrados  in  Matanzas;  in  such  a 
crowd  they  could  easily  manage  to  hide  themselves; 
they  would  at  least  be  fed  along  with  the  others. 

No  one  had  told  Asensio  that  the  Government  was 
leaving  its  prisoners  to  shift  for  themselves,  supplying 
them  with  not  a  pound  of  food  nor  a  square  inch  of  shelter. 

Evangelina  at  first  demurred  to  this  idea,  declaring  that 
Rosa  would  never  be  allowed  to  reach  the  city,  since  the 
roads  were  patrolled  by  lawless  bands  of  troops.  Never 
theless  her  husband  continued  to  argue.  Rosa  herself 
took  no  part  in  the  discussion,  for  it  did  not  greatly  matter 
to  her  whether  she  stayed  or  went. 

Misery  bred  desperation  at  last;  Evangelina's  courage 
failed  her,  and  she  allowed  herself  to  be  won  over.  She 
began  her  preparations  by  disguising  Rosa.  Gathering 
herbs  and  berries,  she  made  a  stain  with  which  she  colored 
the  girl's  face  and  body,  then  she  sewed  a  bundle  of  leaves 
into  the  back  of  Rosa's  waist  so  that  when  the  latter 
stooped  her  shoulders  and  walked  with  a  stick  her  ap 
pearance  of  deformity  was  complete. 

On  the  night  before  their  departure  Rosa  Varona  prayed 
long  and  earnestly,  asking  little  for  herself,  but  much  for 
the  two  black  people  who  had  suffered  so  much  for  her. 
She  prayed  also  that  O'Reilly  would  come  before  it  was 
too  late. 


XIV 

A   WOMAN  WITH  A  MISSION 

WITHIN  a  few  hours   after   O'Reilly's   return  to 
New  York  he  telephoned  to  Felipe  Alvarado,  ex 
plaining  briefly  the  disastrous  failure  of  his  Cuban  trip. 

"I  feared  as  much,"  the  doctor  told  him.  "You  were 
lucky  to  escape  with  your  life." 

"Well,  I'm  going  back." 

"Of  course;  but  have  you  made  any  plans?" 

"Not  yet.  I  dare  say  I'll  have  to  join  some  filibuster 
ing  outfit.  Won't  you  intercede  for  me  with  the  Junta? 
They're  constantly  sending  parties." 

"Um-m!  not  quite  so  often  as  that."  Alvarado  was 
silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  said:  "Dine  with  me  to 
night  and  we'll  talk  it  over.  I'm  eager  for  news  of  my 
brothers  and — there  is  some  one  I  wish  you  to  meet. 
She  is  interested  in  our  cause." 

"'She'?    A  woman?" 

"Yes,  and  an  unusual  woman.  She  has  contributed 
liberally  to  our  cause.  I  would  like  you  to  meet  her." 

"Very  well;  but  I've  only  one  suit  of  clothes,  and  it 
looks  as  if  I'd  slept  in  it." 

"Oh,  bother  the  clothes!"  laughed  the  physician. 
"I've  given  most  of  mine  to  my  destitute  countrymen. 
Don't  expect  too  much  to  eat,  either;  every  extra  dollar, 
you  know,  goes  the  same  way  as  my  extra  trousers.  It 
will  be  a  sort  of  patriotic  'poverty  party.'  Come  at 
seven,  please." 

156 


A   WOMAN   WITH   A   MISSION 

"Dining  out,  eh?  Lucky  devil!"  said  Leslie  Branch 
when  he  had  learned  of  his  companion's  invitation. 
"And  to  meet  a  philanthropic  old  lady!  Gee!  Maybe 
she'll  offer  to  adopt  you.  Who  knows?" 

"I  wish  you'd  offer  to  lend  me  a  clean  shirt." 

"Ill  do  it,"  readily  agreed  the  other.  "I'll  stake  you 
to  my  last  one.  But  keep  it  clean!  Have  a  care  for  the 
cuffs — a  little  inadvertency  with  the  soup  may  ruin  my 
prospects  for  a  job.  You  understand,  don't  you,  that  our 
next  meal  after  this  one  may  depend  upon  this  shirt's 
prosperous  appearance?"  Branch  dove  into  his  bag  and 
emerged  with  a  stiffly  laundered  shirt  done  up  in  a  Cuban 
newspaper.  He  unwrapped  the  garment  and  gazed 
fondly  upon  it,  murmuring,  "  "Tis  a  pretty  thing,  is  it  not  ?" 
His  exertions  had  brought  on  a  violent  coughing-spell, 
which  left  him  weak  and  gasping;  but  when  he  had 
regained  his  breath  he  went  on  in  the  same  key:  "Again 
I  solemnly  warn  you  that  this  spotless  bosom  is  our 
bulwark  against  poverty.  One  stain  may  cut  down  my 
space  rates;  editors  are  an  infernally  fastidious  lot. 
Fortunately  they  want  facts  about  the  war  in  Cuba,  and 
I'm  full  of  'em:  I've  fought  in  the  trenches  and  heard  the 
song  of  grape  and  canister — " 

"Grape-fruit  and  canned  goods,  you  mean,"  O'Reilly 
grinned. 

"Well,  I  shall  write  with  both  in  mind.  The  hope  of 
one  will  stir  memories  of  the  other.  And  who  is  there  to 
dispute  me?  At  least  I  know  what  a  battle  should  be 
like,  and  I  shall  thrill  my  readers  with  imaginary  combats." 

O'Reilly  eyed  the  speaker  with  appreciation.  On  the 
way  north  he  had  learned  to  know  Leslie  Branch  and  to 
like  him,  for  he  had  discovered  that  the  man  possessed  a 
rare  and  pleasing  peculiarity  of  disposition.  Ordinarily 
Branch  was  bitter,  irritable,  pessimistic;  but  when  his 
luck  was  worst  and  his  fortunes  lowest  he  brightened  up. 
It  seemed  that  he  reacted  naturally,  automatically,  against 

157 


RAINBOW'S    END 

misfortune.  Certainly  his  and  O'Reilly's  plight  upon 
leaving  Cuba  had  been  sufficiently  unpleasant,  for  they 
were  almost  penniless,  and  the  invalid,  moreover,  knew 
that  he  was  facing  a  probably  fatal  climate;  neverthe 
less,  once  they  were  at  sea,  he  had  ceased  his  grumbling, 
and  had  surprised  his  traveling-companion  by  assuming  a 
genuinely  cheerful  mien.  Even  yet  O'Reilly  was  not 
over  his  amazement;  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
whether  the  man  was  animated  by  desperate  courage  or 
merely  by  hopeless  resignation.  But  whatever  the  truth, 
the  effect  of  this  typical  perversity  had  been  most  agree 
able.  And  when  Leslie  cheerfully  volunteered  to  share 
the  proceeds  of  his  newspaper  work  during  their  stay 
in  New  York,  thus  enabling  his  friend  to  seize  the  first 
chance  of  returning  to  Cuba,  Johnnie's  affection  for  him 
was  cemented.  But  Branch's  very  cheerfulness  worried 
him;  it  seemed  to  betoken  that  the  fellow  was  sicker  than 
he  would  confess. 

That  evening  O'Reilly  anticipated  his  dinner  engage 
ment  by  a  few  moments  in  order  to  have  a  word  alone 
with  Alvarado. 

"I've  seen  Enriquez,"  he  told  the  doctor,  "but  he  won't 
promise  to  send  me  through.  He  says  the  Junta  is 
besieged  by  fellows  who  want  to  fight  for  Cuba — and  of 
course  I  don't.  When  I  appealed  in  Rosa's  name  he  told 
me,  truthfully  enough,  I  dare  say,  that  there  are  thousands 
of  Cuban  women  as  badly  in  need  of  succor  as  she.  He 
says  this  is  no  time  for  private  considerations." 

"Quite  so!"  the  doctor  agreed.  "We  hear  frightful 
stories  about  this  new  concentration  policy.  I — can't 
believe  them." 

"Oh,  I  guess  they  are  true;  it  is  the  more  reason  why 
I  must  get  back  at  once,"  O'Reilly  said,  earnestly. 

"This  lady  who  is  coming  here  to-night  has  influence 
with  Enriquez.  You  remember  I  told  you  that  she  has 
contributed  liberally.  She  might  help  you." 

158 


A   WOMAN   WITH   A    MISSION 

"  I'll  implore  her  to  put  in  a  word  for  me.    Who  is  she  ? ' ' 

"Well,  she's  my  pet  nurse — " 

"A  nurse!"  O'Reilly's  eyes  opened  wide.  "A  nurse, 
with  money!  I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  thing." 

"  Neither  did  I.  They're  rarer  even  than  rich  doctors," 
Alvarado  acknowledged.  ' '  But,  you  see,  nursing  is  merely 
Miss  Evans's  avocation.  She's  one  of  the  few  wealthy 
women  I  know  who  have  real  ideals,  and  live  up  to  them." 

' '  Oh,  she  has  a  '  mission' ! ' '  Johnnie's  interest  in  Doctor 
Alvarado's  other  guest  suddenly  fell  away,  and  his  tone 
indicated  as  much.  As  the  doctor  was  about  to  reply  the 
ringing  of  the  door-bell  summoned  him  away. 

O'Reilly  had  met  women  with  ideals,  with  purposes, 
with  avocations,  and  his  opinion  of  them  was  low.  Women 
who  had  "missions"  were  always  tiresome,  he  had  dis 
covered.  This  one,  it  appeared,  was  unusual  only  in  that 
she  had  adopted  a  particularly  exacting  form  of  charitable 
work.  Nursing,  even  as  a  rich  woman's  diversion,  must 
be  anything  but  agreeable.  O'Reilly  pictured  this  Evans 
person  in  his  mind — a  large,  plain,  elderly  creature,  ob 
sessed  with  impractical  ideas  of  uplifting  the  masses! 
She  would  undoubtedly  bore  him  stiff  with  stories  of  her 
work:  she  would  reproach  him  with  neglect  of  his  duties 
to  the  suffering.  Johnnie  was  too  poor  to  be  charitable 
and  too  deeply  engrossed  at  the  moment  with  his  own 
troubles  to  care  anything  whatever  about  the  "masses." 

And  she  was  a  "miss."  That  meant  that  she  wore 
thick  glasses  and  probably  kept  cats. 

A  ringing  laugh  from  the  cramped  hallway  interrupted 
these  reflections;  then  amoment  later  Doctor  Alvarado  was 
introducing  O'Reilly  to  a  young  woman  so  completely  out 
of  the  picture,  so  utterly  the  opposite  of  his  preconceived 
notions,  that  he  was  momentarily  at  a  loss.  Johnnie  found 
himself  looking  into  a  pair  of  frank  gray  eyes,  and 
felt  his  hand  seized  by  a  firm,  almost  masculine  grasp. 
Miss  Evans,  according  to  his  first  dazzling  impression,  was 

iS9 


RAINBOW'S    END 

about  the  most  fetching  creature  he  had  ever  seen  and 
about  the  last  person  by  whom  any  young  man  could  be 
bored.  If  she  kept  cats  they  must  be  pedigreed  Persian 
cats,  and  well  worth  keeping,  Johnnie  decided.  The  girl 
— and  she  was  a  girl — had  brought  into  the  room  an 
electric  vitality,  a  breeziness  hard  to  describe.  Her  eyes 
were  humorous  and  intelligent;  her  teeth,  which  she 
seemed  always  ready  to  show  in  a  friendly,  generous 
smile,  were  strong  and  white  and  sparkling.  Altogether 
she  was  such  a  vision  of  healthy,  unaffected,  and  smartly 
gotten-up  young  womanhood  that  O'Reilly  could  only 
stammer  his  acknowledgment  of  the  introduction,  in 
wardly  berating  himself  for  his  awkwardness.  He  was 
aware  of  Alvarado's  amusement,  and  this  added  to  his 
embarrassment. 

"The  doctor  has  told  me  all  about  you."  Miss  Evans 
addressed  Johnnie  over  her  shoulder  as  she  laid  off  her 
furs  and  a  stylish  little  turban  hat.  "I'm  dying  to  hear 
what  happened  on  your  trip." 

"So  am  I,"  confessed  Alvarado.  "You  know,  Mr. 
O'Reilly  has  seen  my  brothers." 

"You  men  must  go  right  ahead  and  talk  as  if  I  weren't 
here.  I  won't  interrupt,  except  with  a  few  vivas  or 
carambas  or —  What  are  some  other  lady-like  Spanish 
exclamations?" 

"There  aren't  very  many,"  Johnnie  acknowledged. 
"I  always  try  to  swear  in  English." 

Alvarado  placed  an  affectionate  hand  upon  Miss 
Evans's  shoulder.  "O'Reilly,  this  girl  has  done  more  for 
Cuba  than  any  of  us.  She  has  spent  a  small  fortune  for 
medical  supplies,"  said  he. 

"Those  poor  men  must  live  on  quinine,"  the  girl  ex 
claimed.  ' '  Any  one  who  can  bear  to  take  the  stuff  ought  to 
have  all  he  wants.  I've  a  perfect  passion  for  giving  pills." 

"Oh,  you  may  joke  about  it.  All  the  same,  if  others 
would  make  the  same  sacrifice — " 

1 60 


A   WOMAN   WITH   A   MISSION 

Miss  Evans  interrupted  breezily:  "It  wasn't  any  sac 
rifice  at  all.  That's  the  worst  of  it.  The  salve  I  bought 
was  really  for  my  conscience,  if  you  must  know.  I 
squander  altogether  too  much  on  myself."  Then,  turn 
ing  to  O'Reilly,  "I  love  extravagance,  don't  you?" 

"Dearly!  It's  my  one  unconquerable  vice,"  he  told 
her.  He  thought  grimly  of  the  four  dollars  in  his  pocket 
which  represented  his  and  Leslie  Branch's  total  wealth, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  called  upon  to  agree 
with  anything  Miss  Evans  might  choose  to  say. 

O'Reilly  liked  this  girl.  He  had  liked  her  the  instant 
she  favored  him  with  her  friendly  smile,  and  so,  trusting 
fatuously  to  his  masculine  powers  of  observation,  he 
tried  to  analyze  her.  He  could  not  guess  her  age,  for  an 
expensive  ladies'  tailor  can  baffle  the  most  discriminating 
eye.  Certainly,  however,  she  was  not  too  old — he  had  an 
idea  that  she  would  tell  him  her  exact  age  if  he  asked  her. 
While  he  could  not  call  her  beautiful,  she  was  something 
immensely  better — she  was  alive,  human,  interesting,  and 
interested.  The  fact  that  she  did  not  take  her  "mission" 
over-seriously  proved  that  she  was  also  sensible  beyond 
most  women.  Yes,  that  was  it,  Norine  Evans  was  a 
perfectly  sensible,  unspoiled  young  person,  who  showed 
the  admirable  effects  of  clean  living  and  clean  thinking 
coupled  with  a  normal,  sturdy  constitution.  O'Reilly 
told  himself  that  here  was  a  girl  who  could  pour  tea,  nurse 
a  sick  man,  or  throw  a  baseball. 

And  she  was  as  good  as  her  promise.  She  did  not  in 
terrupt  when,  during  dinner,  Alvarado  led  Johnnie  to  talk 
about  his  latest  experience  in  Cuba,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
her  unflagging  interest  induced  O'Reilly  to  address  his 
talk  more  often  to  her  than  to  the  doctor.  He  soon  dis 
covered  that  she  understood  the  Cuban  situation  as  well 
as  or  better  than  he,  and  that  her  sympathies  were  keen. 
When  she  did  speak  it  was  to  ask  intelligent  questions, 
some  of  which,  by  the  way,  it  taxed  O'Reilly's  wits  to 

161 


RAINBOW'S    END 

answer  satisfactorily.  Heretofore,  Johnnie  had  looked 
upon  the  war  primarily  as  an  unfortunate  condition  of 
affairs  which  had  played  the  mischief  with  his  own  per 
sonal  fortunes;  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  be  very 
deeply  affected  by  the  rights  or  the  wrongs  of  either  party. 
But  Norine  Evans  took  a  much  deeper  and  broader  view 
of  the  matter.  She  was  genuinely  moved  by  the  gallant 
struggle  of  the  Cuban  people,  and  when  the  dinner  was 
over  she  exploded  a  surprise  which  left  both  men  speech 
less. 

"This  settles  it  with  me,"  she  announced.  " I'm  going 
down  there." 

Alvarado  stared  at  her  for  a  moment.  "My  dear — " 
he  began. 

But  she  warned  him:  "Don't  argue  with  me.  You 
know  I  detest  arguments.  I've  been  thinking  about  it 
for  some  time,  and — " 

"It  is  quite  impossible,"  the  doctor  declared,  firmly; 
and  O'Reilly  agreed. 

"Of  course  you  could  go  to  Havana,"  said  the  latter, 
"but  you  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  see  anything." 

"I'm  going  right  to  the  Insurrectos  with  you." 

"With  me!"  O'Reilly  could  not  conceal  his  lack  of 
enthusiasm.  ' '  I  don't  know  that  the  Junta  will  take  me. ' ' 

"They  will  if  I  ask  them." 

Alvarado  inquired,  "What  ever  put  such  a  ridiculous 
idea  into  your  head?" 

The  girl  laughed.  "It's  the  only  kind  of  ideas  I  have. 
But  there  are  ten  thousand  reasons  why  I  want  to  go. 
In  the  first  place,  I  fairly  itch  to  give  pills.  You  say  the 
rebels  have  no  hospitals,  no  nurses — " 

"We  do  the  best  we  can,  with  our  equipment." 

"Well,  I'll  supply  better  equipment,  and  I'll  handle  it 
myself.  I'm  in  earnest.  You  sha'n't  stop  me." 

O'Reilly  was  uncomfortably  aware  of  the  speaker's 
determination;  protests  had  no  effect  upon  her;  her  clear 

162 


A   WOMAN   WITH   A   MISSION 

cheeks  had  flushed,  her  eyes  were  dancing.  Evidently 
here  was  a  girl  who  did  very  much  as  she  chose. 

"You  don't  realize  what  you  are  saying,"  he  told  her, 
gravely.  "You'd  have  to  go  as  a  filibuster,  on  some 
decrepit,  unseaworthy  freighter  loaded  to  the  guards  and 
crowded  with  men  of  all  sorts.  It's  dangerous  business, 
running  the  Spanish  blockade.  If  captured  you  would 
be  treated  just  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"Lovely!  We'd  land  in  small  boats  some  dark  night. 
Maybe  we'd  have  a  fight!" 

"And  if  you  got  through,  what  then?  Life  in  a  bark 
hut,  with  nothing  to  eat.  Bugs!  Snakes!  Hardships!" 

"That  decides  me.  I  eat  too  much — Doctor  Alvarado 
tells  me  I  do.  I  adore  huts,  and  I  don't  seriously  object 
to  insects." 

The  physician  stirred  uneasily.  "It's  utterly  absurd," 
he  expostulated.  "Some  women  might  do  it,  but  you're 
not  the  sort.  You  are — pardon  me — a  most  attractive 
young  person.  You'd  be  thrown  among  rough  men." 

"Mr.  O'Reilly  will  look  out  for  me.  But  for  that 
matter  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  Oh,  it's  of  no  use  trying 
to  discourage  me.  I  always  have  my  own  way;  I'm 
completely  spoiled." 

"Your  family  will  never  consent,"  O'Reilly  ventured; 
whereupon  Miss  Evans  laughed. 

"I  haven't  such  a  thing.  I'm  alone  and  unencumbered. 
No  girl  was  ever  so  fortunate.  But  wait — I'll  settle  this 
whole  thing  in  a  minute."  She  quitted  the  table,  ran  to 
Alvarado's  telephone,  and  called  a  number. 

"She's  after  Enriquez,"  groaned  the  physician.  "He's 
weak;  he  can't  refuse  her  anything." 

"I  don't  want  a  woman  on  my  hands,"  O'Reilly  whis 
pered,  fiercely.  "Suppose  she  got  sick?  Good  Lord! 
I'd  have  to  nurse  her."  He  wiped  a  sudden  moisture 
from  his  brow. 

"Oh,  she  won't  get  sick.  She'll  probably  nurse  you — 

163 


RAINBOW'S    END 

and — and  all  the  other  men.  You'll  like  it,  too,  and  you 
will  all  fall  in  love  with  her — everybody  does — and  start 
fighting  among  yourselves.  There!  She  has  Enriquez. 
Listen." 

Johnnie  shivered  apprehensively  at  the  directness  with 
which  Miss  Evans  put  her  request.  "You  understand,  I 
want  to  go  and  see  for  myself,"  she  was  saying.  "If  you 
need  medicines  I'll  give  them — bushels  of  the  nastiest 
stuff  I  can  buy.  I'll  organize  a  field  hospital.  .  .  .  Oh, 
very  well,  call  it  a  bribe,  if  you  like.  Anyhow,  I've  fully 
determined  to  go,  and  Mr.  O'Reilly  has  volunteered  to 
take  care  of  me.  He's  charmed  with  the  idea."  Miss 
Evans  giggled.  "That  means  you'll  have  to  take  him 
along,  too." 

There  followed  a  pause  during  which  the  two  men  ex 
changed  dismayed  glances. 

"She  doesn't  seem  to  care  what  she  says,"  O'Reilly 
murmured.  "But — I'll  put  a  flea  in  Enriquez's  ear." 

"Put  it  in  writing,  please."    There  was  another  wait. 

"Now  read  it  to  me Good !"    Miss  Evans  fairly  purred 

over  the  telephone.  "Send  it  to  me  by  messenger  right 
away;  that's  a  dear.  I'm  at  Doctor  Alvarado's  house, 
and  he's  beside  himself  with  joy.  Thanks,  awfully. 
You're  so  nice."  A  moment,  and  she  was  back  in  the 
dining-room  facing  her  two  friends — a  picture  of  triumph. 
"You  have  nothing  more  to  say  about  it,"  she  gloated. 
"'The  Provisional  Government  of  Cuba,  through  its 
New  York  representatives,  extends  to  Miss  Norine  Evans 
an  invitation  to  visit  its  temporary  headquarters  in  the 
Sierra  de — something-or-other,  and  deems  it  an  honor 
to  have  her  as  its  guest  so  long  as  she  wishes  to  remain 
there.  It  requests  that  all  military  and  civil  officers 
afford  her  every  safety  and  convenience  within  their 
power.'  That's  practically  what  Mr.  Enriquez  read  to 
me.  In  fifteen  minutes  it  will  be  here  in  black  and  white. 
Now  then,  let's  celebrate." 

164 


A   WOMAN   WITH   A   MISSION 

She  executed  a  dance  step,  pirouetted  around  the  room, 
then  plumped  herself  down  into  her  chair.  She  rattled 
her  cup  and  saucer  noisily,  crying,  "Fill  them  up,  Doctor 
Gloom.  Let's  drink  to  Cuba  Libre." 

Johnnie  managed  to  smile  as  he  raised  his  demi-tasse. 
"Here's  to  my  success  as  a  chaperon,"  said  he.  "I'm 
disliked  by  the  Spaniards,  and  now  the  Cubans  will  hate 
me.  I  can  see  happy  days  ahead." 


XV 

FILIBUSTERS 

T  ESLIE  BRANCH  was  asleep  when  O'Reilly  returned 
L^  to  their  room,  but  he  awoke  sufficiently  to  listen  to 
the  latter's  breathless  account  of  the  dinner-party. 

"I'm  rattled,"  Johnnie  confessed.  "Why,  that  girl 
just  bounced  right  into  the  middle  of  everything,  and — 
and  I  can't  bounce  her  out  again." 

"You  say  she's  young,  and  pretty \  and — rich?"  Leslie 
was  incredulous. 

"Y-yes!    All  of  that." 

" Um-m !    Doctor  Alvarado  must  mix  a  good  cocktail." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you're  drunk  and  delirious.  They  don't  come 
that  way,  my  boy.  When  they're  rich  they're  old  and 
ugly." 

"I  tell  you  this  girl  is  young  and — stunning." 

"Of  course  she  is,"  Branch  agreed,  soothingly.  "Now 
go  to  sleep  and  don't  think  any  more  about  her,  there's 
a  good  boy !  Everything  will  be  all  right  in  the  morning. 
Perhaps  it  never  happened;  perhaps  you  didn't  meet  any 
woman  at  all."  The  speaker  yawned  and  turned  over. 

" Don't  be  an  ass,"  Johnnie  cried,  impatiently.  "What 
are  we  going  to  do  with  a  woman  on  our  hands?" 

"  We?  Don't  divide  her  with  me.  What  are  you  going 
to  do?  The  truth  is  plain,  this  Miss  Evans  is  in  love  with 
you  and  you  don't  know  it.  She  sees  in  you  her  soul 
mate.  Well,  if  you  don't  want  her,  I  want  her.  I'll  eat 

166 


FILIBUSTERS 

her  medicine.  I'll  even — many  the  poor  old  soul,  if  she's 
rich." 

O'Reilly  arose  early  the  next  morning  and  hurried  down 
to  the  office  of  the  Junta,  hoping  that  he  could  convince 
Mr.  Enriquez  of  the  folly  of  allowing  Norine  Evans  to  have 
her  way.  By  the  light  of  day  Miss  Evans's  project 
seemed  more  hare-brained  than  ever,  and  he  suspected 
that  Enriquez  had  acquiesced  in  it  only  because  of  a 
natural  inability  to  refuse  anything  to  a  pretty  woman — 
that  was  typically  Cuban.  But  his  respect  for  Miss 
Evans's  energy  and  initiative  deepened  when,  on  arriving 
at  56  New  Street,  he  discovered  that  she  had  forestalled 
him  and  was  even  then  closeted  with  the  man  he  had  come 
to  see.  Johnnie  waited  uneasily;  he  was  dismayed  when 
the  girl  finally  appeared,  with  Enriquez  in  tow,  for  the 
man's  face  was  radiant. 

"It's  all  settled,"  she  announced,  at  sight  of  O'Reilly. 
"  I've  speeded  them  up." 

"You're  an  early  riser,"  the  latter  remarked.  "I 
hardly  expected — " 

Enriquez  broke  in.  "Such  enthusiasm!  Such  ardor! 
She  whirls  a  person  off  his  feet." 

"It  seems  that  the  Junta  lacks  money  for  another 
expedition,  so  I've  made  up  the  deficit.  We'll  be  off  in 
a  week." 

"Really?    Then  you're  actually — going?" 

"Of  course." 

"It  was  like  a  gift  from  Heaven,"  Enriquez  cried. 
"Our  last  embarrassment  is  removed,  and — " 

But  Johnnie  interrupted  him.  "You're  crazy,  both  of 
you,"  he  declared,  irritably.  "Cuba  is  no  place  for  an 
American  girl.  I'm  not  thinking  so  much  about  the 
danger  of  capture  on  the  way  down  as  the  hardship  after 
she  gets  there  and  the  fact  that  she  will  be  thrown  among 
all  sorts  of  men." 

The  elder  man  lifted  his  head.  "Every  Cuban  will 

167 


RAINBOW'S    END 

know  who  Miss  Evans  is,  and  what  she  has  done  for  our 
cause.  You  do  not  seem  to  have  a  high  regard  for  our 
chivalry,  sir." 

' '  There !' '    Norine  was  triumphant. 

"There  is  bound  to  be  some  danger,  of  course,"  En- 
riquez  continued,  "for  the  coast  is  well  patrolled;  but 
once  the  expedition  is  landed,  Miss  Evans  will  be  among 
friends.  She  will  be  as  safe  in  our  camps  as  if  she  were  in 
her  own  home." 

"Don't  be  hateful,  and  argumentative,  or  I'll  begin 
to  think  you're  a  born  chaperon,"  Miss  Evans  exclaimed. 
"Come!  Make  up  your  mind  to  endure  me.  And  now 
you're  going  to  help  me  buy  my  tropical  outfit." 

With  a  smile  and  a  nod  at  Enriquez  she  took  O'Reilly's 
arm  and  bore  him  away. 

In  spite  of  his  panic-struck  protestations  that  he  knew 
less  than  nothing  about  woman's  requirements,  she  led 
him  up-town.  And  she  kept  him  at  her  side  all  that 
morning  while  she  made  her  purchases;  then  when  she 
had  loaded  him  down  with  parcels  she  invited  him  to 
take  her  to  lunch.  The  girl  was  so  keenly  alive  and  so 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  adventure  that  Johnnie 
could  not  long  remain  displeased  with  her.  She  had  an 
irresistible  way  about  her,  and  he  soon  found  himself 
sharing  her  good  spirits.  She  had  a  healthy  appetite, 
too;  when  O'Reilly  set  out  for  his  lodgings  after  escorting 
her  home  he  walked  in  order  to  save  car  fare.  Clams, 
consomme",  chicken  salad,  French  pastry,  and  other  ex 
travagances  had  reduced  his  capital  to  zero. 

The  days  of  idle  waiting  that  followed  were  trying, 
even  to  one  of  O'Reilly's  philosophic  habit  of  mind.  He 
could  learn  nothing  about  the  Junta's  plans,  and,  owing 
to  his  complete  uncertainty,  he  was  unable  to  get  work. 
Leslie  Branch,  too,  failed  to  find  steady  employment, 
though  he  managed,  by  the  sale  of  an  occasional  column, 
to  keep  them  both  from  actual  suffering.  His  cough, 

168 


FILIBUSTERS 

meanwhile,  grew  worse  day  by  day,  for  the  spring  was 
late  and  raw.  As  a  result  his  spirits  rose,  and  he  became 
the  best  of  all  possible  good  companions.  Johnnie,  who 
was  becoming  constantly  more  fond  of  him,  felt  his 
anxiety  increase  in  proportion  to  this  improvement  in 
mood;  it  seemed  to  him  that  Branch  was  on  the  very 
verge  of  a  collapse. 

At  last  there  came  a  message  which  brought  them  great 
joy.  Enriquez  directed  them  to  be  in  readiness  to  leave 
Jersey  City  at  seven  o'clock  the  following  morning. 
Neither  man  slept  much  that  night. 

As  they  waited  in  the  huge,  barn-like  station  Enriquez 
appeared  with  Norine  Evans  upon  his  arm.  The  girl's 
color  .was  high;  she  was  tremulous  with  excitement. 
Leslie  Branch,  who  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  emitted  a 
low  whistle  of  surprise. 

"Glory  be!  That  goddess!"  he  cried.  "And  I  called 
her  a  '  poor  old  soul ' !" 

When  Norine  took  his  bony,  bloodless  hand  in  her  warm, 
grasp  and  flashed  him  her  frank,  friendly  smile,  he  capitu 
lated  instantly.  In  hyperbolical  terms  he  strove  to  voice 
his  pleasure  at  the  meeting;  but  he  lost  the  thread  of  his 
thought  and  floundered  so  hopelessly  among  his  words 
that  Norine  said,  laughingly: 

"Now,  Mr.  Branch,  bold  buccaneers  don't  make  pretty 
speeches.  Hitch  up  your  belt  and  say,  'Hello,  Norine!' 
I'll  call  you  Leslie." 

"Don't  call  me  'Leslie,'"  he  begged.  "Call  me 
often." 

Then  he  beamed  upon  the  others,  as  if  this  medieval 
pun  were  both  startling  and  original.  It  was  plain  that  he 
wholly  and  inanely  approved  of  Norine  Evans. 

Enriquez  was  introducing  a  new-comer  now,  one 
Major  Ramos,  a  square-jawed,  forceful  Cuban,  who,  it 
seemed,  was  to  be  in  command  of  the  expedition. 

"My  duties  end  here,"  Enriquez  explained.  "Major 
12  169 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Ramos  will  take  charge  of  you,  and  you  must  do  exactly 
as  he  directs.  Ask  no  questions,  for  he  won't  answer 
them.  Do  you  think  you  can  follow  instructions?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  sha'n't  even  try,"  Norine  told  him. 
"I'm  fairly  bursting  with  curiosity  at  this  moment." 

"Remember,  Ramos,  not  a  word." 

"I  promise,"  smiled  the  major. 

"Good-by  and  good  luck."  Enriquez  shook  hands  all 
around;  then  he  bowed  and  kissed  Miss  Evans's  fingers. 
"I  shall  pray  that  you  escape  all  danger,  senorita,  and  I 
shall  see  that  Cuba  remembers  her  debt  to  you." 

When  he  had  gone  the  three  Americans  followed  their 
new  guide  through  the  iron  gates. 

Major  Ramos  proved  that  he  knew  how  to  obey  orders 
even  though  the  other  members  of  his  party  did  not. 
He  remained  utterly  deaf  to  Miss  Evans's  entreaties 
that  he  let  her  know  something  about  the  plans  of  the 
expedition;  he  would  not  even  tell  her  where  he  was 
taking  her,  where  the  other  filibusters  had  assembled,  or 
from  what  port  their  ship  would  sail.  He  did  go  so  far, 
however,  as  to  explain  that  an  inkling  of  the  Junta's  plans 
had  leaked  out,  and  that  determined  efforts  to  upset 
them  were  being  made,  efforts  which  necessitated  the 
greatest  care  on  his  part.  This,  of  course,  whetted  the 
girl's  curiosity;  but  to  her  most  artful  queries  he  opposed 
a  baffling  silence.  When  Philadelphia,  Washington,  then 
Baltimore,  and  finally  Richmond  were  left  behind,  Miss 
Evans  was,  in  truth,  ready  to  explode,  and  her  two  com 
panions  were  in  a  similar  frame  of  mind. 

Major  Ramos  was  not  naturally  a  silent  man;  he  had 
all  the  loquacity  of  the  Latin,  and  all  the  Latin's  appre 
ciation  of  a  pretty  woman;  he  made  no  secret  of  the  fact 
that  his  orders  irked  him.  Despite  his  official  reserve  he 
proved  himself  a  pleasant  traveling-companion,  and  he 
talked  freely  on  all  but  one  subject.  He  played  a  good 
game  of  cards,  too,  and  he  devoted  himself  with  admirable 

170 


FILIBUSTERS 

courtesy  to  Norine's  comfort.  It  was  not  until  the  train 
was  approaching  Charleston  that  he  finally  announced : 

"  Now  then,  my  first  command.  This  is  the  end  of  our 
journey;  the  other  members  of  the  expedition  are  here. 
But  I  must  ask  you  not  to  talk  with  them  or  with  any 
strangers,  for  our  friends  are  being  watched  by  detectives 
in  the  employ  of  the  Spanish  minister  at  Washington  and 
by  United  States  deputy-marshals.  One  little  indis 
cretion  might  ruin  everything." 

"Spies!    Oh,  goody!"  cried  Miss  Evans. 

"The  local  authorities  intend  to  seize  any  vessel  we 
try  to  sail  on.  We  must  be  careful." 

The  hotel  to  which  Major  Ramos  led  his  guests  ap-1 
peared  to  be  well  filled;  there  were  many  Cubans  in  the 
lobby,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  aroma  of  their 
strong,  black  cigarettes.  As  the  major  entered  they 
turned  interested  and  expectant  faces  toward  him  and 
they  eyed  his  companions  with  frank  curiosity.  Miss 
Evans  became  the  target  for  more  than  one  warmly 
admiring  glance. 

As  for  O'Reilly,  the  familiar  odor  of  those  Cuban  ciga 
rettes,  the  snatches  of  Spanish  conversation  which  he  over 
heard,  awoke  in  him  a  great  excitement ;  he  realized  with 
an  odd  thrill  that  these  eager,  dark-visaged  men  were  now 
his  friends  and  comrades,  and  that  those  Americans 
loitering  watchfully  among  them  were  his  enemies — the 
spies  of  whom  Ramos  had  spoken.  There  were  at  least 
a  score  of  the  latter,  and  all  were  plainly  stamped  with  the 
distinctive  marks  of  their  calling.  That  they,  too,  were 
interested  in  the  latest  arrivals  was  soon  made  evident  by 
their  efforts  to  get  acquainted. 

To  Norine  Evans  it  was  all  immensely  exciting.  The 
attention  she  evoked  delighted  her  vastly,  and  she  was 
almost  offended  when  O'Reilly  threatened  one  particularly 
forward  sleuth  with  a  thrashing,  thereby  ending  her  fun. 

It  was  a  strangely  restless  gathering.  The  Cubans  sat 

171 


RAINBOW'S    END 

in  groups  or  in  pairs  with  their  heads  together,  smoking 
furiously  and  whispering,  pausing  now  and  then  to  glare 
balefully  at  some  detective  who  drew  within  ear-shot. 
Every  hour  increased  the  strain. 

On  the  street  it  became  known  that  a  party  of  filibusters 
was  in  the  city  and  curious  townspeople  came  to  investi 
gate,  while  others  journeyed  to  the  water-front  to  stare 
at  the  big  ocean-going  tug  which  had  slipped  into  the 
harbor  on  the  evening  previous.  When  they  learned  that 
she  was  none  other  than  the  Dauntless,  that  most  famous 
of  Cuban  blockade-runners,  and  that  "Dynamite  Johnny  " 
O'Brien  himself  was  in  command,  interest  grew.  The 
exploits  of  that  redoubtable  mariner  were  familiar  to  the 
citizens  of  Charleston,  and  their  sympathies  were  quite 
naturally  with  the  cause  he  served;  therefore  they  were 
disappointed  to  behold  a  revenue  cutter  at  anchor  close 
alongside  the  Dauntless.  Her  steam  was  up;  she  was 
ready  for  instant  action;  it  seemed  impossible  for  "  Dyna 
mite  Johnny"  to  get  his  cargo  and  his  passengers  aboard 
under  her  very  nose.  Some  imaginative  person  claimed 
to  have  a  tip  that  the  Dauntless  intended  to  ram  the 
revenue  cutter,  and  a  warning  to  that  effect  appeared  in 
the  evening  paper,  together  with  the  rumor  that  a  Spanish 
cruiser  was  waiting  just  outside  the  three-mile  limit. 

Charleston  awoke  with  a  start,  and  the  Cuban  patriots 
who  found  themselves  the  object  of  this  sudden  interest 
buzzed  like  flies.  They  muttered  and  whispered  more 
mysteriously  than  ever,  and  consumed  even  greater  quan 
tities  of  tobacco.  The  detectives  became  painfully  alert. 

To  O'Reilly  and  his  two  companions  it  seemed  that  the 
expedition  had  already  failed.  Through  some  blunder  its 
plans  had  evidently  become  known,  and  all  was  ruined. 
That  was  the  worst  of  these  Cubans;  they  couldn't  keep 
a  secret.  Branch  stalked  the  hotel  lobby  like  a  restless 
wraith.  O'Reilly  was  furious.  Of  the  entire  party 
Ramos  alone  maintained  an  unruffled  pleasantry;  he 

172 


FILIBUSTERS 

spent  the  evening  in  Miss  Evans's  company,  quite  oblivious 
to  the  general  feeling  of  dismay. 

On  the  next  afternoon  word  was  quietly  passed  to  get 
ready,  and  the  filibusters,  carrying  their  scant  hand- 
baggage,  began  to  leave  the  hotel  in  groups,  followed, 
of  course,  by  the  watchful  spies. 

As  the  three  Americans  prepared  for  departure  Norine 
whispered:  "Listen!  Everything  is  all  right.  We're 
not  going  aboard  the  Dauntless  at  all;  she's  here  as  a 
blind." 

"Are  you  sure?"    O'Reilly  shot  her  a  quick  glance. 

"Major  Ramos  himself  gave  that  story  to  the  news 
papers;  it's  all  a  part  of  his  plan.  I  promised  not  to  tell, 
but — I  just  can't  help  myself .  Gee!  I'm  having  a  good 
time." 

Leslie  Branch  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "You  may 
enjoy  it,  but  I  don't,"  he  grumbled.  "We'll  end  by  being 
pinched,  and  that  will  finish  me.  One  week  in  a  damp 
cell,  with  my  lungs — " 

O'Reilly,  whose  spirits  had  risen  magically,  clapped  him 
heartily  on  the  back,  crying:  "Congratulations!  You're 
feeling  better." 

"I  never  felt  worse!"  the  other  complained. 

"Nonsense!  That's  the  first  kick  you've  made  since 
we  hit  cold  weather.  By  the  time  we  reach  Cuba  you'll 
be  nice  and  melancholy  and  your  cough  will  be  all  gone." 

Ramos  led  his  three  charges  to  the  railroad  station 
and  into  the  rear  coach  of  a  south-bound  train,  where  the 
other  members  of  the  expedition  had  already  found  seats. 
As  they  climbed  aboard,  a  Secret  Service  agent  essayed  to 
follow  them,  but  he  was  stopped  by  a  brakeman,  who  said: 

"You  can't  ride  in  here;  this  is  a  special  car.  Some 
sort  of  a  picnic  party.  They're  '  wops '  or  Greeks  or  some 
thing." 

Other  detectives  who  attempted  to  invade  the  privacy 
of  that  rear  coach  after  the  train  had  gotten  under  way 

i73 


RAINBOW'S    END 

were  also  denied.  Meanwhile,  the  filibusters  cast  re 
straint  aside,  and  for  the  first  time  intermingled  freely. 

Evening  came,  then  night,  and  still  the  party  was  jerked 
along  at  the  tail  of  the  train  without  a  hint  as  to  its  destina 
tion.  About  midnight  those  who  were  not  dozing  noted 
that  they  had  stopped  at  an  obscure  pine-woods  junction, 
and  that  when  the  train  got  under  way  once  more  their 
own  car  did  not  move.  The  ruse  was  now  apparent; 
owing  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  it  was  doubtful  if  any 
one  in  the  forward  coaches  was  aware  that  the  train  was 
lighter  by  one  car. 

There  was  a  brief  delay;  then  a  locomotive  crept  out 
from  a  siding,  coupled  up  to  the  standing  car,  and  drew 
it  off  upon  another  track.  Soon  the  "excursion  party" 
was  being  rushed  swiftly  toward  the  coast,  some  twenty 
miles  away. 

Major  Ramos  came  down  the  aisle,  laughing,  and  spoke 
to  his  American  protege's. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  eh?  Imagine  the 
feelings  of  those  good  deputy-marshals  when  they  wake 
up.  I  bet  they'll  rub  their  eyes." 

Miss  Evans  bounced  excitedly  in  her  seat;  she  clapped 
her  hands. 

"You  must  have  friends  in  high  places,"  O'Reilly 
grinned,  and  the  Cuban  agreed. 

"Yes,  I  purposely  drew  attention  to  us  in  Charleston, 
while  our  ship  was  loading.  She's  ready  and  waiting  for 
us  now;  and  by  daylight  we  ought  to  be  safely  out  to  sea. 
Meanwhile  the  Dauntless  has  weighed  anchor  and  is 
steaming  north,  followed,  I  hope,  by  all  the  revenue 
cutters  hereabouts." 

It  was  the  darkest  time  of  the  night  when  the  special 
train  came  to  a  stop  at  a  bridge  spanning  one  of  the 
deep  Southern  rivers.  In  the  stream  below,  dimly  out 
lined  in  the  gloom,  lay  the  Fair  Play,  a  small  tramp 
steamer;  her  crew  were  up  and  awake.  The  new  arrivals 

174 


FILIBUSTERS 

were  hurried  aboard,  and  within  a  half-hour  she  was 
feeling  her  way  seaward. 

With  daylight,  caution  gave  way  to  haste,  and  the 
rusty  little  tramp  began  to  drive  forward  for  all  she  was 
worth.  She  cleared  the  three-mile  limit  safely  and  then 
turned  south.  Not  a  craft  was  in  sight;  not  a  smudge 
of  smoke  discolored  the  sky-line. 

It  had  been  a  trying  night  for  the  filibusters,  and  when 
the  low  coast-line  was  dropped  astern  they  began  to  think 
of  sleep.  Breakfast  of  a  sort  was  served  on  deck,  after 
which  those  favored  ones  who  had  berths  sought  them, 
while  their  less  fortunate  companions  stretched  out  wher 
ever  they  could  find  a  place. 

Johnnie  O'Reilly  was  not  one  of  those  who  slept;  he 
was  too  much  elated.  Already  he  could  see  the  hills 
of  Cuba  dozing  behind  their  purple  veils;  in  fancy  he  felt 
the  fierce  white  heat  from  close-walled  streets,  and 
scented  the  odors  of  "mangly"  swamps.  He  heard  the 
ceaseless  sighing  of  royal  palms.  How  he  had  hungered 
for  it  all;  how  he  had  raged  at  his  delays!  Cuba's  spell 
was  upon  him;  he  knew  now  that  he  loved  the  island,  and 
that  he  would  never  feel  at  rest  on  other  soil. 

It  had  seemed  so  small  a  matter  to  return ;  it  had  seemed 
so  easy  to  seek  out  Rosa  and  to  save  her!  Yet  the  days 
had  grown  into  weeks;  the  weeks  had  aged  into  months. 
Well,  he  had  done  his  best;  he  had  never  rested  from  the 
moment  of  Rosa's  first  appeal.  Her  enemies  had  foiled 
him  once,  but  there  would  be  no  turning  back  this  time — 
rather  a  firing-squad  or  a  dungeon  in  Cabanas  than  that. 

O'Reilly  had  taken  his  bitter  medicine  as  becomes  a 
man — he  had  maintained  a  calm,  if  not  a  cheerful,  front; 
but  now  that  every  throb  of  the  propeller  bore  him  closer 
to  his  heart's  desire  he  felt  a  growing  jubilation,  a  mounting 
restlessness  that  was  hard  to  master.  His  pulse  was 
pounding;  his  breath  swelled  in  his  lungs.  Sleep? 
That  was  for  those  who  merely  risked  their  lives  for 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Cuba.  Hunger?  No  food  could  satisfy  a  starving  soul. 
Rest?  He  would  never  rest  until  he  held  Rosa  Varona 
in  his  arms.  This  rusty,  sluggish  tub  was  standing  still ! 

Into  the  midst  of  his  preoccupation  Norine  Evans 
forced  herself,  announcing,  breathlessly: 

"Oh,  but  I'm  excited!  They're  hoisting  a  cannon  out 
of  the  hold  and  putting  it  together,  so  that  we  can  fight 
if  we  have  to." 

" Now  don't  you  wish  you'd  stayed  at  home?"  O'Reilly 
smiled  at  her. 

"Good  heavens,  no!  I'm  having  the  time  of  my  life. 
I  nearly  died  of  curiosity  at  first — until  I  found  Major 
Ramos's  tongue." 

"Hm-m!  You  found  it,  all  right.  He  appears  to  be 
completely  conquered." 

"I-I'm  afraid  so,"  the  girl  acknowledged,  with  a  little 
grimace.  "You'd  think  he'd  never  seen  a  woman  before. 
He's  very — intense.  Very!" 

"You  don't  expect  me,  as  your  chaperon,  to  approve  of 
your  behavior?  Why,  you've  been  flirting  outrageously." 

" I  had  to  flirt  a  little:  I  simply  had  to  know  what  was 
going  on.  But — I  fixed  him." 

"Indeed?" 

"I  couldn't  let  him  spoil  my  fun,  could  I?  Of  course 
not.  Well,  I  put  a  damper  on  him.  I  told  him  about 
you — about  us." 

O'Reilly  was  puzzled.  "What  do  you  mean?"  he  in 
quired. 

"You  won't  be  angry,  will  you?  When  he  waxed 
romantic  I  told  him  he  had  come  into  my  life  too  late. 
I  confessed  that  I  was  in  love  with  another  man — with 
you."  As  her  hearer  drew  back  in  dismay  Miss  Evans 
added,  quickly,  "Oh,  don't  be  frightened;  that  isn't 
half—" 

"Of  course  you're  joking,"  Johnnie  stammered. 

"Indeed  I'm  not.  I  thought  it  would  discourage  him, 

176 


FILIBUSTERS 

but — it  didn't.  So  I  told  him  a  whopper.  I  said  we 
were  engaged."  The  speaker  tittered.  She  was  de 
lighted  with  herself. 

' '  Engaged  ?    To  be  married? ' ' 

"Certainly!  People  aren't  engaged  to — to  go  fishing, 
are  they?  I  had  to  tell  him  something;  he  was  getting 
positively  feverish.  If  he'd  kept  it  up  I'd  have  told  him 
we  were  secretly  married." 

"This  may  be  funny,"  the  young  man  said,  stiffly, 
"but  I  don't  see  it." 

"Oh,  don't  look  so  glum!  I'm  not  going  to  hold  you 
to  it,  you  know.  Why  " — Miss  Evans's  bantering  manner 
ceased,  and  she  said,  earnestly:  "Doctor  Alvarado  told 
me  your  story,  and  I  think  it  is  splendid.  I'm  going  to 
help  you  find  that  little  Rosa,  if  you'll  let  me.  You  were 
thinking  about  her  when  I  came  up,  weren't  you?" 

Johnnie  nodded. 

"You — might  talk  to  me  about  her,  if  you  care  to." 

O'Reilly's  voice  was  husky  and  low  as  he  said:  "I 
daren't  trust  myself.  I'm  afraid.  She's  so  young,  so 
sweet,  so  beautiful — and  these  are  war-times.  I'm  almost 
afraid  to  think — " 

Norine  saw  her  companion's  cheeks  blanch  slowly,  saw 
his  laughing  eyes  grow  grave,  saw  the  muscular  brown 
hand  upon  the  rail  tighten  until  the  knuckles  were  white; 
impulsively  she  laid  her  palm  over  his. 

"Don't  let  yourself  worry,"  she  said.  "If  money 
would  buy  her  safety  you  could  have  all  that  I  have.  Just 
be  brave  and  true  and  patient,  and  you'll  find  her.  I'm 
sure  you  will.  And  in  the  mean  time  don't  mind  my 
frivolity;  it's  just  my  way.  You  see  this  is  my  first 
taste  of  life,  and  it  has  gone  to  my  head." 


XVI 

THE  CITY  AMONG  THE  LEAVES 

HHHE  night  was  moonless  and  warm.  An  impalpable 
r  1  haze  dimmed  the  star-glow,  only  the  diffused  illumi 
nation  of  the  open  sea  enabled  the  passengers  of  the 
Fair  Play  to  identify  that  blacker  darkness  on  the  horizon 
ahead  of  them  as  land.  The  ship  herself  was  no  more  than 
a  formless  blot  stealing  through  the  gloom,  and  save  for 
the  phosphorescence  at  bow  and  stern  no  light  betrayed 
her  presence,  not  even  so  much  as  the  flare  of  a  match  or 
the  coal  from  a  cigar  or  cigarette.  Orders  of  the  strictest 
had  been  issued  and  the  expedicionarios,  gathered  along 
the  rails,  were  not  inclined  to  disregard  them,  for  only 
two  nights  before  the  Fair  Play,  in  spite  of  every  precau 
tion,  had  shoved  her  nose  fairly  into  a  hornets'  nest  and 
had  managed  to  escape  only  by  virtue  of  the  darkness 
and  the  speed  of  her  engines. 

She  had  approached  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  pre 
arranged  landing-place  when  over  the  mangroves  had 
flared  the  blinding  white  light  of  a  Spanish  patrol-boat; 
like  a  thief  surprised  at  his  work  the  tramp  had  turned 
tail  and  fled,  never  pausing  until  she  lay  safe  among  the 
Bahama  Banks. 

Now  she  was  feeling  her  way  back,  some  distance  to  the 
westward.  Major  Ramos  was  on  the  bridge  with  the 
captain.  Two  men  were  taking  soundings  in  a  blind 
search  for  that  steep  wall  which  forms  the  side  of  the  old 
Bahama  Channel.  When  the  lead  finally  gave  them 

178 


THE    CITY   AMONG   THE    LEAVES 

warning,  the  Fair  Play  lost  her  headway  and  came  to  a 
stop,  rolling  lazily;  in  the  silence  that  ensued  Leslie 
Branch's  recurrent  cough  barked  loudly. 

"They're  afraid  to  go  closer,  on  account  of  the  reef," 
O'Reilly  explained  to  his  companions. 

"That  must  be  it  that  I  hear,"  Norine  ventured. 
"Or  maybe  it's  just  the  roaring  in  my  ears." 

"Probably  the  latter,"  said  Branch.  "I'm  scared 
stiff.  I  don't  like  reefs.  Are  there  any  sharks  in  these 
waters?" 

"Plenty." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I'm  thin,"  the  sick  man  murmured. 

Major  Ramos  spoke  in  a  low  tone  from  the  darkness 
above,  calling  for  a  volunteer  boat's  crew  to  reconnoiter 
and  to  look  for  an  opening  through  the  reef.  Before  the 
words  were  out  of  his  mouth  O'Reilly  had  offered  himself. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  found  himself  at  the  steering-oar 
of  one  of  the  ship's  life-boats,  heading  shoreward.  A 
hundred  yards,  and  the  Fair  Play  was  lost  to  view;  but, 
keeping  his  face  set  toward  that  inky  horizon,  O'Reilly 
guided  his  boat  perhaps  a  half-mile  nearer  before  ordering 
his  crew  to  cease  rowing.  Now  through  the  stillness  came 
a  low,  slow,  pulsating  whisper,  the  voice  of  the  barrier 
reef. 

The  trade-winds  had  died  with  the  sun,  and  only  the 
gentlest  ground-swell  was  running ;  nevertheless,  when  the 
boat  drew  farther  in  the  sound  increased  alarmingly,  and 
soon  a  white  breaker  streak  showed  dimly  where  the  coral 
teeth  of  the  reef  bit  through. 

There  was  a  long  night's  work  ahead;  time  pressed,  and 
so  O'Reilly  altered  his  course  and  cruised  along  outside 
the  white  water,  urging  his  crew  to  lustier  strokes.  It 
was  haphazard  work,  this  search  for  an  opening,  and 
every  hour  of  delay  increased  the  danger  of  discovery. 

A  mile — two  miles — it  seemed  like  ten  to  the  taut  oars 
men,  and  then  a  black  hiatus  of  still  water  showed  in  the 

179 


RAINBOW'S    END 

phosphorescent  foam.  O'Reilly  explored  it  briefly;  then 
he  turned  back  toward  the  ship.  When  he  had  gone  as 
far  as  he  dared,  he  lit  a  lantern  and,  shielding  its  rays  from 
the  shore  with  his  coat,  flashed  it  seaward.  After  a  short 
interval  a  dim  red  eye  winked  once  out  of  the  blackness. 
O'Reilly  steered  for  it. 

Soon  he  and  his  crew  were  aboard  and  the  ship  was 
groping  her  way  toward  the  break  in  the  reef.  Mean 
while,  her  deck  became  a  scene  of  feverish  activity;  out 
from  her  hold  came  cases  of  ammunition  and  medical 
supplies;  the  field-piece  on  the  bow  was  hurriedly  dis 
mounted;  the  small  boats,  of  which  there  were  an  extra 
number,  were  swung  out,  with  the  result  that  when  the 
Fair  Play  had  manceuvered  as  close  as  she  dared  every 
thing  was  in  readiness. 

Many  of  these  expedicionarios  were  professional  men, 
clerks,  cigar-makers,  and  the  like;  few  of  them  had  ever 
done  hard  manual  labor;  yet  they  fell  to  their  tasks  will 
ingly  enough.  While  they  worked  a  close  watch  with 
night  glasses  was  maintained  from  the  bridge. 

O'Reilly  took  the  first  load  through  the  reef,  and  dis 
charged  it  upon  a  sandy  beach.  No  one  seemed  to  know 
positively  whether  this  was  the  mainland  or  some  key; 
and  there  was  no  time  for  exploration;  in  either  event, 
there  was  no  choice  of  action.  Every  man  tumbled  over 
board  and  waded  ashore  with  a  packing-case;  he  dropped 
this  in  the  sand  above  high-tide  mark,  and  then  ran  back 
for  another.  It  was  swift,  hot  work.  From  the  darkness 
on  each  side  came  the  sounds  of  other  boat  crews  similarly 
engaged. 

Johnnie  was  back  alongside  the  ship  and  ready  for  a 
second  cargo  before  the  last  tender  had  set  out  upon  its 
first  trip,  and  then  for  several  hours  this  slavish  activity 
continued.  Some  crews  lost  themselves  in  the  gloom, 
fetched  up  on  the  reef,  and  were  forced  to  dump  their 
freight  into  the  foam,  trusting  to  salvage  it  when  daylight 

1 80 


THE    CITY   AMONG   THE    LEAVES 

came.  Every  one  was  wet  to  the  skin;  bodies  steamed  in 
the  heat;  men  who  had  pulled  at  oars  until  their  hands 
were  raw  and  bleeding  cursed  and  groaned  at  their  own 
fatigue.  But  there  was  little  shirking;  those  whose 
strength  completely  failed  them  dropped  in  the  sand  and 
rested  until  they  could  resume  then-  labors. 

Daylight  was  coming  when  the  last  boat  cast  off  and  the 
Fair  Play,  with  a  hoarse  triumphant  blast  of  her  whistle, 
faded  into  the  north,  her  part  in  the  expedition  at  an  end. 

O'Reilly  bore  Norine  Evans  ashore  in  his  arms,  and 
when  he  placed  her  feet  upon  Cuban  soil  she  hugged  him, 
crying: 

"We  fooled  them,  Johnnie!  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you  we'd  have  turned  back.  The  captain  was  afraid  of  the 
reef." 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  was  afraid,  too,"  he  sighed, 
wearily.  "Now  then,  about  all  we  have  to  fear  are 
Spanish  coast-guards." 

Dawn  showed  the  voyagers  that  they  were  indeed 
fortunate,  for  they  were  upon  the  mainland  of  Cuba,  and 
as  far  as  they  could  see,  both  east  and  west,  the  reef  was 
unbroken.  There  was  still  some  uncertainty  as  to  their 
precise  position,  for  the  jungle  at  their  backs  shut  off 
their  view  of  the  interior;  but  that  gave  them  little  con 
cern.  Men  were  lolling  about,  exhausted,  but  Major 
Ramos  allowed  them  no  time  for  rest;  he  roused  them, 
and  kept  them  on  the  go  until  the  priceless  supplies  had 
been  collected  within  the  shelter  of  the  brush.  Then  he 
broke  open  certain  packages,  and  distributed  arms  among 
his  followers. 

Even  while  this  was  going  on  there  came  an  alarm; 
over  the  low  promontory  that  cut  off  the  eastern  coast 
line  a  streamer  of  smoke  was  seen.  There  was  a  scurry 
for  cover;  the  little  band  lay  low  and  watched  while  a 
Spanish  cruiser  stole  past  not  more  than  a  mile  outside 
the  line  of  froth. 

181 


RAINBOW'S   END 

The  three  Americans,  who  were  munching  a  tasteless 
breakfast  of  pilot-bread,  were  joined  by  Major  Ramos. 
He  was  no  longer  the  immaculate  personage  he  had  been: 
he  was  barefooted;  his  clothes  were  torn;  his  trousers 
were  rolled  up  to  the  knee  and  whitened  by  sea-water, 
while  the  revolver  at  his  hip  and  the  bandolier  of  cartridges 
over  his  shoulder  lent  him  an  incongruously  ferocious 
appearance.  Ever  since  Norine  had  so  rudely  shattered 
his  romantic  fancies  the  major  had  treated  both  her  and 
O'Reilly  with  a  stiff  and  distant  formality.  He  began 
now  by  saying: 

"I  am  despatching  a  message  to  General  Gomez's 
headquarters,  asking  him  to  send  a  pack-train  and  an 
escort  for  these  supplies.  There  is  danger  here;  perhaps 
you  would  like  to  go  on  with  the  couriers." 

O'Reilly  accepted  eagerly;  then  thinking  of  the  girl, 
he  said,  doubtfully: 

"I'm  afraid  Miss  Evans  isn't  equal  to  the  trip." 

"Nonsense!  I'm  equal  to  anything,"  Norine  declared. 
And  indeed  she  looked  capable  enough  as  she  stood  there 
in  her  short  walking-suit  and  stout  boots. 

Branch  alone  declined  the  invitation,  vowing  that  he 
was  too  weak  to  budge.  If  there  was  the  faintest  prospect 
of  riding  to  the  interior  he  infinitely  preferred  to  await 
the  opportunity,  he  said,  even  at  the  risk  of  an  attack  by 
Spanish  soldiers  in  the  mean  time. 

It  took  O'Reilly  but  a  short  time  to  collect  the  few 
articles  necessary  for  the  trip ;  indeed,  his  bundle  was  so 
small  that  Norine  was  dismayed. 

"Can't  I  take  any  clothes?"  she  inquired  in  a  panic. 
"I  can't  live  without  a  change." 

"  It  is  something  you'll  have  to  learn, ' '  he  told  her.  ' '  An 
Insurrecto  with  two  shirts  is  wealthy.  Some  of  them 
haven't  any." 

"Isn't  it  likely  to  rain  on  us?" 

"It's  almost  sure  to." 

182 


THE    CITY   AMONG   THE    LEAVES 

Miss  Evans  pondered  this  prospect;  then  she  laughed. 
"It  must  feel  funny,"  she  said. 

There  were  three  other  members  of  the  traveling-party, 
men  who  knew  something  of  the  country  round  about; 
they  were  good  fighters,  doubtless,  but  in  spite  of  their 
shiny  new  weapons  they  resembled  soldiers  even  less  than 
did  their  major.  All  were  dressed  as  they  had  been  when 
they  left  New  York;  one  even  wore  a  derby  hat  and 
pointed  patent-leather  shoes.  Nevertheless,  Norine 
Evans  thought  the  little  cavalcade  presented  quite  a 
martial  appearance  as  it  filed  away  into  the  jungle. 

The  first  few  miles  were  trying,  for  the  coast  was 
swampy  and  thickly  grown  up  to  underbrush;  but  in  time 
the  jungle  gave  place  to  higher  timber  and  to  open  savan 
nas  deep  in  guinea-grass.  Soon  after  noon  the  travelers 
came  to  a  farm,  the  owner  of  which  was  known  to  one  of 
the  guides,  and  here  a  stop  was  made  in  order  to  secure 
horses  and  food. 

It  was  a  charming  little  rancho.  The  palm-thatched 
house  was  set  in  a  grove  of  mamey  and  mango  trees,  all 
heavily  burdened  with  fruit;  there  was  a  vianda-patch, 
and,  wonder  of  wonders,  there  were  a  half-dozen  cows 
dozing  in  the  shade.  Spying  these  animals,  Norine 
promptly  demanded  a  glass  of  milk,  and  O'Reilly  trans 
lated  her  request  to  the  farmer. 

The  man  was  obliging  until  he  learned  that  the  American 
lady  purposed  drinking  the  milk  fresh  and  warm;  then 
he  refused  positively.  Fresh  milk  was  full  of  fever,  he 
explained :  it  was  alive  with  germs.  He  would  bring  her, 
instead,  some  which  had  been  boiled  and  salted  in  the 
usual  Cuban  manner.  This  he  did,  but  after  one  bitter 
mouthful  Norine  insisted  upon  her  original  request.  With 
a  dubious  shake  of  bis  head  and  a  further  warning  the 
farmer  directed  his  son  to  oblige  the  pretty  lady  by 
milking  one  of  the  cows ;  he  made  it  plain,  however,  that 
he  disclaimed  all  responsibility  for  the  result. 

183 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Johnnie,  who  was  badly  fagged  from  the  previous  night's 
work,  found  a  shady  spot  and  stretched  himself  out  for  a 
nap.  He  inquired  idly  if  there  were  any  Spaniards  in  the 
vicinity,  and  learned  that  there  were,  but  that  they  seldom 
came  this  way. 

"We'd  never  see  them  here,  if  it  were  not  for  these 
sin  verguenzas — may  a  bad  lightning  split  them! — who 
take  money  to  show  them  the  bridle-paths,"  the  country 
man  explained.  "  I'd  like  to  guide  them  once.  I'd  lead 
them  into  a  swamp  and  leave  them  to  sink  in  the  mud, 
then  I'd  go  back  and  cut  off  their  heads.  Ha!  That 
would  be  a  satisfaction,  now,  wouldn't  it?" 

O'Reilly  agreed  sleepily  that  it  would  doubtless  be  a 
very  great  satisfaction  indeed. 

"I'm  as  good  a  patriot  as  God  ever  made,"  the  fellow 
ran  on.  ' '  You  can  see  that,  eh  ?  But  what  do  you  think ? 
I  have  a  brother,  a  very  blood  brother,  who  would  sell 
himself  for  a  peseta.  He  passed  here  the  other  day  at  the 
head  of  a  whole  Spanish  guerrillero."  The  speaker  bared 
his  teeth  and  spat  viciously.  "Christ!  How  I  would 
like  to  cut  his  throat!" 

The  shade  was  grateful.  O'Reilly  dozed.  He  was 
awakened  by  being  roughly  shaken,  and  he  found  the 
man  with  the  derby  hat  bending  over  him.  The  fellow 
was  excited;  his  eyes  were  ringed  with  white;  his  expres 
sion  bespoke  the  liveliest  alarm.  Loud  voices  came  from 
the  rear  of  the  bohio. 

' '  What's  the  matter  ?  Spaniards  ?"  Johnnie  was  on  his 
feet  in  an  instant. 

"No,  no!  Your  sefiorita!"  the  man  gasped.  "For  the 
love  of  God  come  quickly."  He  set  off  at  a  run,  and 
Johnnie  followed,  a  prey  to  sudden  sick  misgivings. 

Around  the  house  they  dashed,  and  into  a  group  the 
center  of  which  was  Norine  herself,  a  gourdful  of  milk  in 
one  hand,  a  partially  devoured  mango  in  the  other.  At 
first  glance  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  amiss;  but  the 

184 


THE    CITY   AMONG   THE    LEAVES 

owner  of  the  farm  was  dancing;  he  was  trying  to  seize 
first  the  mango,  then  the  drinking-vessel.  His  wife  was 
wringing  her  hands  and  crying,  shrilly : 

"God  have  mercy!  So  young — so  beautiful!  What  a 
pity!" 

The  two  filibusters  and  the  farmer's  eldest  son,  all 
visibly  perturbed,  likewise  joined  in  the  commotion,  while 
the  smaller  children  looked  on  from  the  background  and 
whimpered. 

"What's  happened?"  O'Reilly  demanded,  breathlessly. 

Norine  turned  a  puzzled  face  to  him,  meanwhile  warding 
off  the  farmer's  attack.  "I  can't  quite  make  out,"  she 
said.  "They  all  talk  at  once.  Please  ask  them  what 
I've  done."  Mechanically  she  raised  the  ripe  mango  to 
her  lips,  whereupon  the  rancher o,  with  a  yell,  leaped  upon 
her  and  violently  wrenched  it  out  of  her  fingers. 

Facing  O'Reilly,  the  man  panted:  "There!  You  saw 
her!  She  wouldn't  listen  to  my  wife — " 

"Oh,  I  warned  her!"  wailed  the  woman.  "But  it  was 
too  late." 

"You  must  tell  her  what  she  has  done,"  said  the  fellow 
in  the  stiff  hat. 

"Well,  what  has  she  done?"  Johnnie  managed  to  in 
quire,  whereupon  every  one  began  a  separate  explanation: 

"She  will  never  become  your  wife.  .  .  .  Look!  That's 
not  her  first  mango.  .  .  .  Enough  to  destroy  an  army.  .  .  . 
You  can  see  for  yourself.  .  .  .  Wait !  Ask  her  how  many 
she  ate.  Ask  her,  sefior,  I  implore  you!" 

There  was  a  silence  while  Johnnie  translated  the  ques 
tion  and  repeated  the  answer: 

"She  says  she  doesn't  remember,  they  are  so  nice  and 
ripe— 

"'So  nice  and  ripe'!"  shouted  the  owner  of  the  farm, 
tearing  his  hair. 

" '  So  nice  and  ripe ' ! "  echoed  his  wife. 

"'So  nice  and  ripe'!"  groaned  the  man  who  had  awak- 
13  185 


RAINBOW'S    END 

ened  O'Reilly.  "  Major  Ramos  told  me  to  guard  her  with 
my  life  because  she  is  the  guest  of  Cuba.  Well,  I  shall 
kill  myself." 

The  country  woman  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon 
Norine's  arm,  inquiring,  gently:  "How  are  you  feeling, 
my  beautiful  dove?  Sick,  eh?" 

"What  on  earth  ails  these  people?"  inquired  the  object 
of  all  this  solicitude.  "I  haven't  made  away  with  a  baby. 
Maybe  they're  afraid  I  won't  pay  for  my  food?" 

Light  came  to  O'Reilly.  "I  remember  now,"  said  he. 
"Mangoes  and  milk  are  supposed  to  be  poisonous.  The 
woman  wants  to  know  how  you  feel." 

"Poisonous!  Nonsense!  They  taste  splendid.  Tell 
her  I'm  still  half  starved." 

It  proved  now  that  one  of  the  three  members  of  the 
landing-party  possessed  an  unsuspected  knowledge  of 
English,  which  modesty  alone  had  prevented  him  from 
revealing.  Under  the  stress  of  his  emotion  he  broke  out: 

"Oh,  missy!    Those  fruit  is  skill  you." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Miss  Evans  declared. 

"It  skill  you,  all  right.  Maybe  you  got  a  headache 
here,  eh?"  The  speaker  laid  a  hand  upon  his  abdomen 
and  leaned  forward  expectantly. 

"Nothing  but  an  aching  void." 

This  confession,  or  a  garbled  translation  of  it,  was 
enough  for  the  others;  it  confirmed  their  worst  fears. 
The  farmer  volunteered  to  ride  for  the  nearest  priest,  but 
hesitated,  declaring  it  a  waste  of  time,  inasmuch  as  the 
lady  would  be  dead  in  half  an  hour.  His  wife  ran  to  the 
house  for  her  crucifix  and  rosary,  which  latter  she  insisted 
upon  hanging  around  Norine's  neck.  After  that  she 
directed  the  men  to  carry  the  sufferer  indoors,  her  inten 
tion  being  to  make  her  guest's  last  moments  as  comfortable 
as  possible.  When  Norine  refused  to  be  carried  she  was 
warned  that  the  least  exertion  would  but  hasten  the  end, 
which  was,  alas !  all  too  near. 

186 


THE    CITY   AMONG   THE    LEAVES 

O'Reilly  was  impressed,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  this 
weight  of  conviction,  especially  when  the  Cubans  ridiculed 
his  suggestion  that  the  combination  of  milk  and  mango 
might  not  prove  altogether  fatal  to  an  American.  Nothing, 
they  assured  him,  could  possibly  be  deadlier  than  this 
abominable  mixture. 

The  victim  herself,  however,  remained  skeptical;  she 
alone  treated  the  matter  lightly,  and  although  she  did 
finally  consent  to  lie  down,  it  was  merely  to  please  the 
others  and  because  she  was  tired. 

"They  have  set  their  minds  on  seeing  me  expire,  and 
they're  such  nice  people  I'm  almost  ashamed  to  disappoint 
them,"  she  confided  to  O'Reilly.  "But  really  I'm  too 
hungry  to  die.  Now  don't  forget  to  call  me  when  dinner 
is  ready." 

"Honestly,  do  you  feel  all  right?"  he  asked  of  her. 

"Never  better." 

The  meal  was  slow  in  coming,  for  not  only  were  the 
cooking  arrangements  primitive,  but  the  apprehensive 
housewife  could  not  long  remain  away  from  the  sick 
room.  She  made  frequent  visits  thereto,  and  after  each 
she  reported  in  a  whisper  the  condition  of  the  patient. 
The  lady  looked  very  white. . .  .  Her  breathing  was  becom 
ing  slower. . . .  She  was  unconscious.  .  .  .  All  would  soon  be 
over. ...  It  was  better  to  let  her  pass  painlessly  to  paradise 
than  to  torture  her  with  useless  remedies.  Realizing 
that  the  poison  had  at  last  begun  to  work,  the  men  tip 
toed  to  the  door  and  peered  in  compassionately,  where 
upon  the  sufferer  roused  herself  sufficiently  to  call  them 
"a  lot  of  rubber-necks"  and  bid  them  begone. 

"Her  mind  wanders,"  explained  the  man  of  the  house; 
and  then  to  cheer  O'Reilly  he  added,  "She  is  young  and 
strong;  she  may  linger  until  evening." 

The  meal  was  set  at  last,  however;  the  men  were 
stealthily  attacking  it.  Suddenly  the  sick  woman  swept 
out  from  her  retreat  and  sat  down  among  them. 

187 


RAINBOW'S    END 

' '  Senorita !    This  is  suicide !"  they  implored. 

Then,  as  she  ignored  them  and  helped  herself  liberally 
to  the  food,  their  own  appetites  vanished  and  they 
pushed  themselves  away  from  the  table. 

With  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  O'Reilly  said,  gravely,  "  Dying 
people  have  strange  fancies.  Pray  don't  thwart  her." 

Indifference  so  callous  on  the  part  of  a  lover  shocked  the 
Cubans.  They  rebuked  O'Reilly  silently;  it  was  plain 
that  they  considered  Americans  a  barbarously  cold 
blooded  race.  Meanwhile  they  apprehensively  watched 
Norine's  every  mouthful. 

When,  after  a  time,  no  ill  effects  having  appeared,  she 
suggested  departing,  they  whispered  together.  They 
agreed  at  last  that  it  was  perhaps  the  course  of  wisdom 
to  humor  her.  She  was  the  guest  of  their  Government; 
it  would  not  do  to  displease  her.  Inasmuch  as  her  end 
was  inevitable,  it  could  matter  little  whether  she  died  here 
or  elsewhere.  Accordingly  they  saddled  their  borrowed 
horses  and  set  out. 

All  that  afternoon  Norine  was  an  object  of  the  tenderest 
solicitude  on  the  part  of  her  three  Cuban  guides.  They 
momentarily  expected  to  see  her  stricken.  Then  when 
she  gave  no  sign  of  distress  they  marveled,  and  expressed 
great  admiration  at  her  fortitude  in  enduring  pain. 

That  night  was  spent  at  another  farm-house.  When 
on  the  next  morning  Norine  not  only  was  seen  to  be  alive 
and  well,  but  insisted  upon  making  her  breakfast  of 
mangoes  and  milk,  the  fellow  in  the  derby  hat  flung  his 
hands  on  high  and  told  O'Reilly: 

"It  is  no  less  than  a  miracle,  but  now  she  courts  the 
wrath  of  God,  sefior!  As  for  me,  I  shall  never  again  asso 
ciate  with  eccentric  persons  who  delight  to  fly  in  the  face 
of  Providence.  It  is  my  opinion  that  all  Americans  are 
crazy." 

The  party  had  penetrated  to  the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierra 
de  Cubitas  now,  and  as  they  ascended,  the  scenery 

1 88 


THE   CITY   AMONG   THE   LEAVES 

changed.  Rarely  is  the  Cuban  landscape  anything  but 
pleasing.  For  the  most  part  green  pastures  sown  with 
stately  palm-trees  and  laid  out  as  if  for  a  picnic  alternate 
with  low  rolling  hills,  and  in  but  few  places  are  the  altitudes 
at  all  impressive.  It  is  a  smiling  island.  It  has  been 
said,  too,  that  everything  in  it  is  friendly  to  man:  the 
people  are  amiable,  warm-hearted;  the  very  animals  and 
insects  are  harmless.  Cuban  cattle  are  shy,  but  trusting; 
Cuban  horses  are  patient  and  affectionate;  the  serpents 
have  no  poison,  and  although  the  spiders  and  the  scorpions 
grow  large  and  forbidding,  their  sting  is  ineffective.  But 
here  in  the  Cubitas  range  all  was  different.  The  land  was 
stern  and  forbidding:  canons  deep  and  damp  raised 
dripping  walls  to  the  sky;  bridle-paths  skirted  ledges  that 
were  bold  and  fearsome,  or  lost  themselves  in  gloomy 
jungles  as  noisome  as  Spanish  dungeons.  Hidden  away  in 
these  fastnesses,  the  rebel  Government  had  established 
its  capital.  Here,  safe  from  surprise,  the  soldiers  of 
Gomez  and  Maceo  and  Garcia  rested  between  attacks, 
nursing  their  wounded  and  recruiting  their  strength  for 
further  sallies. 

It  was  a  strange  seat  of  government — no  nation  ever 
had  a  stranger — for  the  state  buildings  were  huts  of  bark 
and  leaves,  the  army  was  uniformed  in  rags.  Cook-fires 
smoldered  in  the  open  glades ;  cavalry  horses  grazed  in  the 
grassy  streets,  and  wood-smoke  drifted  over  them. 

The  second  evening  brought  O'Reilly  and  Miss  Evans 
safely  through,  and  at  news  of  the  expedition's  success  a 
pack-train  was  made  ready  to  go  to  its  assistance.  No- 
rine's  letter  from  the  New  York  Junta  was  read,  and  the 
young  woman  was  warmly  welcomed.  One  of  the  better 
huts  was  vacated  for  her  use,  and  the  officers  of  the 
provisional  Government  called  to  pay  their  respects. 


XVII 

THE  CITY  OP  BEGGARS 

'"PHERE  were  other  Americans  in  Cubitas,  as  O'Reilly 
i  soon  discovered.  During  his  first  inspection  of  the 
village  he  heard  himself  hailed  in  his  own  language,  and 
a  young  man  in  dirty  white  trousers  and  jacket  strode 
toward  him. 

"Welcome  to  our  city!"  the  stranger  cried.  "I'm 
Judson,  Captain  of  Artillery,  Departmento  del  Oriente; 
and  you're  the  fellow  who  came  with  that  quinine  lady, 
aren't  you?" 

O'Reilly  acknowledged  his  identity,  and  Judson  grinned: 

"The  whole  camp  is  talking  about  her  and  those 
mangoes.  Jove!  It's  a  wonder  she  didn't  die  of  fright. 
Something  tells  me  you're  Irish.  Anyhow,  you  look  as 
if  you'd  enjoy  a  scrap.  Know  anything  about  artillery?" 

' '  Nothing  whatever. ' ' 

"I'm  sorry.  We  need  gunners.  Still,  you  know  as  much 
as  the  rest  of  us  did  when  we  came." 

"I'm  not  a  fighter,"  Johnnie  told  him.  "I'm  here  on 
— other  business." 

Captain  Judson  was  plainly  disappointed.  Neverthe 
less,  he  volunteered  to  assist  his  countryman  in  any  way 
possible.  "Have  you  met  the  old  man,"  he  inquired — 
"General  Gomez?" 

"No,  I'd  like  to  meet  him." 

"Come  along,  then;  I'll  introduce  you.  This  is  about 
the  right  time  of  day  for  it;  he'll  probably  be  in  good 

190 


THE    CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

humor.    He  has  dyspepsia,   you  know,   and  he's  not 
always  pleasant." 

It  was  nearly  sundown;  the  eastern  slopes  were  in 
shadow,  and  supper  was  cooking.  As  the  two  men  passed 
down  the  wide  street  between  its  rows  of  bohios  the 
fragrance  of  burning  fagots  was  heavy  in  the  air — that 
odor  which  is  sweet  in  the  nostrils  of  every  man  who 
knows  and  loves  the  out-of-doors.  To  O'Reilly  it  was 
like  the  scents  of  Araby,  for  his  hopes  were  high,  his  feet 
were  light,  and  he  believed  his  goal  was  in  sight. 

Gen.  Maximo  Gomez,  father  of  patriots,  bulwark  of  the 
Cuban  cause,  was  seated  in  a  hammock,  reading  some 
letters;  O'Reilly  recognized  him  instantly  from  the  many 
pictures  he  had  seen.  Gomez  was  a  keen,  wiry  old  man ; 
the  color  of  his  swarthy,  sun-bitten  cheeks  was  thrown 
into  deeper  relief  by  his  snow-white  mustache  and  goatee. 
He  looked  up  at  Judson's  salute  and  then  turned  a  pair 
of  brilliant  eyes,  as  hard  as  glass,  upon  O'Reilly.  His  was 
an  irascible,  brooding  face;  it  had  in  it  something  of  the 
sternness,  the  exalted  detachment,  of  the  eagle,  and 
O'Reilly  gained  a  hint  of  the  personality  behind  it. 
Maximo  Gomez  was  counted  one  of  the  world's  ablest 
guerrilla  leaders;  and  indeed  it  had  required  the  quench 
less  enthusiasm  of  a  real  military  genius  to  fuse  into  a 
homogeneous  righting  force  the  ill-assorted  rabble  of  nonde 
scripts  whom  Gomez  led,  to  school  them  to  privation  and 
to  render  them  sufficiently  mobile  to  defy  successfully  ten 
times  their  number  of  trained  troops.  This,  however,  was 
precisely  what  the  old  Porto-Rican  had  done,  and  in  doing 
it  he  had  won  the  admiration  of  military  students.  He  it 
was,  more  than  any  other,  who  bore  the  burden,  of  Cuba's 
unequal  struggle;  it  was  Gomez's  cunning  and  Gomez's 
indomitable  will  which  had  already  subjugated  half  the 
island  of  Cuba;  it  was  Gomez's  stubborn,  unflagging  re 
sistance  which  was  destined  to  shatter  for  all  time  the 
hopes  of  Spain  in  the  New  World. 

191 


RAINBOW'S    END 

With  a  bluntness  not  unkind  he  asked  O'Reilly  what  had 
brought  him  to  Cuba.  Then  before  the  young  man  could 
answer  he  gestured  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  saying : 

"Major  Ramos  gives  you  splendid  credit  for  helping  him 
to  land  his  expedition,  but  he  says  you  didn't  come  to  fight 
with  us.  What  does  he  mean  ?' ' 

When  O'Reilly  explained  the  reason  for  his  presence  the 
old  fighter  nodded. 

"So?    You  wish  to  go  west,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir.    I  want  to  find  Colonel  Lopez." 

' '  Lopez  ?    Miguel  Lopez  ?' '  the  general  inquired ,  quickly. 

"I  believe  that's  his  name — at  any  rate  the  Colonel 
Lopez  who  has  been  operating  in  Matanzas  Province. 
You  see,  he  knows  the  whereabouts  of  my — friends." 

"Well,  you  won't  have  to  look  far  for  him."  General 
Gomez's  leathery  countenance  lightened,  into  a  smile. 
"He  happens  to  be  right  here  in  Cubitas."  Calling  Jud- 
son  to  him,  he  said:  "  Amigo,  take  Mr.  O'Reilly  to  Colonel 
Lopez;  you  will  find  him  somewhere  about.  I  am  sorry 
we  are  not  to  have  this  young  fellow  for  a  soldier;  he 
looks  like  a  real  man  and — quite  equal  to  five  quintos, 
eh?" 

It  was  the  habit  of  the  Cubans  to  refer  to  their  enemies 
as  quintos — the  fifth  part  of  a  man!  With  a  wave  of 
his  hand  Gomez  returned  to  his  reading. 

As  Judson  led  his  companion  away  he  said:  "When  you 
have  finished  with  Lopez  come  to  my  shack  and  we'll  have 
supper  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  the  rest  of  our  gang. 
You  won't  get  much  to  eat,  for  we're  short  of  grub; 
but  it's  worse  where  Lopez  comes  from." 

Col.  Miguel  Lopez,  a  handsome,  animated  fellow,  took 
O'Reilly's  hand  in  a  hearty  clasp  when  they  were  intro 
duced;  but  a  moment  later  his  smile  gave  way  to  a  frown 
and  his  brow  darkened. 

"So!  You  are  that  O'Reilly  from  Matanzas,"  said  he. 
"  I  know  you  now,  but — I  never  expected  we  would  meet." 

192 


THE   CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

"Est6ban  Varona  told  you  about  me,  did  he  not?" 

The  colonel  inclined  his  head. 

"I'm  here  at  last,  after  the  devil's  own  time.  I've 
been  trying  every  way  to  get  through.  The  Spaniards 
stopped  me  at  Puerto  Principe — they  sent  me  back  home, 
you  know.  I've  been  half  crazy.  I —  You — "  O'Reilly 
swallowed  hard.  "You  know  where  Este"ban  is?  Tell 
me—" 

"Have  you  heard  nothing?" 

"Nothing  whatever.  That  is,  nothing  since  Rosa,  his 
sister —  You  understand,  she  and  I  are — engaged — " 

"Yes,  yes;  Este"ban  told  me  all  about  you." 

Something  in  the  Cuban's  gravity  of  manner  gave 
O'Reilly  warning.  A  sudden  fear  assailed  him.  His 
voice  shook  as  he  asked: 

"What  is  it  ?    My  God !    Not  bad  news?" 

There  was  no  need  for  the  officer  to  answer.  In  his 
averted  gaze  O'Reilly  read  confirmation  of  his  sickest 
apprehensions.  The  men  faced  each  other  for  a  long 
moment,  while  the  color  slowly  drove  out  of  the  American's 
cheeks,  leaving  him  pallid,  stricken.  He  wet  his  lips  to 
speak,  but  his  voice  was  no  more  than  a  dry,  throaty 
rustle. 

"Tell  me!    Which  one?"  he  whispered. 

"Both!" 

O'Reilly  recoiled;  a  spasm  distorted  his  chalky  face. 
He  began  to  shake  weakly,  and  his  fingers  plucked  aim 
lessly  at  each  other. 

Lopez  took  him  by  the  arm.  ' '  Try  to  control  yourself, ' ' 
said  he.  "Sit  here  while  I  try  to  tell  you  what  little  I 
know.  Or,  would  it  not  be  better  to  wait  awhile,  until  you 
are  calmer?"  As  the  young  man  made  no  answer,  except 
to  stare  at  him  in  a  white  agony  of  suspense,  he  sighed: 
"Very  well,  then,  as  you  wish.  But  you  must  be  a  man, 
like  the  rest  of  us.  I,  too,  have  suffered.  My  father" — 
Lopez's  mustached  lip  drew  back,  and  his  teeth  showed 

193 


RAINBOW'S    END 

through — "died  in  the  Laurel  Ditch  at  Cabanas.  On  the 
very  day  after  my  first  victory  they  shot  him — an  old 
man.  Christ !  It  is  because  of  such  things  that  we  Cubans 
fight  while  we  starve — that  we  shall  continue  to  fight 
until  no  Spaniard  is  left  upon  this  island.  We  have  all 
faced  something  like  that  which  you  are  facing  now — 
our  parents  murdered,  our  sisters  and  our  sweethearts 
wronged.  ..." 

O'Reilly,  huddled  where  he  had  sunk  upon  the  bench, 
uttered  a  gasping,  inarticulate  cry,  and  covered  his  face 
as  if  from  a  lash. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know — which  isn't  much.  Este"ban 
Varona  came  to  me  soon  after  he  and  his  sister  had  fled 
from  their  home;  he  wanted  to  join  my  forces,  but  we  were 
harassed  on  every  side,  and  I  didn't  dare  take  the  girl — 
no  woman  could  have  endured  the  hardships  we  suffered. 
So  I  convinced  him  that  his  first  duty  was  to  her,  rather 
than  to  his  country,  and  he  agreed.  He  was  a  fine  boy! 
He  had  spirit.  He  bought  some  stolen  rifles  and  armed  a 
band  of  his  own — which  wasn't  a  bad  idea.  I  used  to  hear 
about  him.  Nobody  cared  to  molest  him,  I  can  tell  you, 
until  finally  he  killed  some  of  the  regular  troops.  Then 
of  course  they  went  after  him.  Meanwhile,  he  managed 
to  destroy  his  own  plantations,  which  Cueto  had  robbed 
him  of.  You  knew  Cueto?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Este"ban  put  an  end  to  him  after  a  while;  rode 
right  up  to  La  Joya  one  night,  broke  in  the  door,  and 
macheted  the  scoundrel  in  his  bed.  But  there  was  a 
mistake  of  some  sort.  It  seems  that  a  body  of  Cobo's 
Volunteers  were  somewhere  close  by,  and  the  two  parties 
met.  I  have  never  learned  all  the  details  of  the  affair, 
and  the  stories  of  that  fight  which  came  to  me  are  too 
preposterous  for  belief.  Still,  Este*ban  and  his  men  must 
have  fought  like  demons,  for  they  killed  some  incredible 
number.  But  they  were  human — they  could  not  defeat 

194 


THE   CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

a  regiment.  It  seems  that  only  one  or  two  of  them 
escaped." 

"Est£ban?    Did  he— " 

Colonel  Lopez  nodded;  then  he  said,  gravely:  "Cobo 
takes  no  prisoners.  I  was  in  the  Rubi  hills  at  the  time, 
fighting  hard,  and  it  was  six  weeks  before  I  got  back  into 
Matanzas.  Naturally,  when  I  heard  what  had  happened, 
I  tried  to  find  the  girl,  but  Weyler  was  concentrating  the 
pacificos  by  that  time,  and  there  was  nobody  left  in  the 
Yumuri;  it  was  a  desert." 

"Then  you  don't  know  positively  that  she  .  .  .  that 
she—" 

"Wait.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  boy  was  killed,  but 
of  Rosa's  fate  I  can  only  form  my  own  opinion.  However, 
one  of  Este"ban's  men  joined  my  troops  later,  and  I  not 
only  learned  something  about  the  girl,  but  also  why 
Este"ban  had  been  so  relentlessly  pursued.  It  was  all 
Cobo's  doings.  You  have  heard  of  the  fellow?  No? 
Well,  you  will."  The  speaker's  tone  was  eloquent  of 
hatred.  "He  is  worse  than  the  worst  of  them — a  mon 
ster!  He  had  seen  Miss  Varona.  She  was  a  beautiful 
girl..." 

"  Go  on !"  whispered  the  lover. 

"I  discovered  that  she  didn't  at  first  obey  Weyler's 
edict.  She  and  the  two  negroes — they  were  former  slaves 
of  her  father,  I  believe — took  refuge  in  the  Pan  de  Matan 
zas.  Later  on,  Cobo's  men  made  a  raid  and — killed  a 
great  many.  Some  few  escaped  into  the  high  ravines,  but 
Miss  Varona  was  not  one  of  them.  Out  of  regard  for 
Esteban  I  made  careful  search,  but  I  could  find  no  trace 
of  her." 

"And  yet,  you  don't  know  what  happened?"  O'Reilly 
ventured.  ' '  You're  not  sure  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  tell  you  again  Cobo's  men  take  no  prisoners. 
When  I  heard  about  that  raid  I  gave  up  looking  for  her." 

"This — Cobo" — the  American's  voice  shook  in  spite 

195 


RAINBOW'S    END 

of  his  effort  to  hold  it  steady — "I  shall  hope  to  meet  him 
some  time." 

The  sudden  fury  that  filled  Colonel  Lopez's  face  was 
almost  hidden  by  the  gloom.  "Yes.  Oh  yes!"  he  cried, 
quickly,  "  and  you  are  but  one  of  a  hundred ;  I  am  another. 
In  my  command  there  is  a  standing  order  to  spare  neither 
Cobo  nor  any  of  his  assassins;  they  neither  expect  nor 
receive  quarter  from  us.  Now,  compafiero" — the  Cuban 
dropped  a  hand  on  O'Reilly's  bowed  head — "I  am  sorry 
that  I  had  to  bring  you  such  evil  tidings,  but,  we  are  men 
— and  this  is  war." 

"No,  no!  It  isn't  war — it's  merciless  savagery!  To 
murder  children  and  to  outrage  women — why,  that 
violates  all  the  ethics  of  warfare." 

"Ethics!"  the  colonel  cried,  harshly.  "Ethics?  Hell 
is  without  ethics.  Why  look  for  ethics  in  war?  Violence 
— injustice — insanity — -chaos — that  is  war.  It  is  man's 
agony — woman's  despair.  It  is  a  defiance  of  God.  War 
is  without  mercy,  without  law;  it  is — well,  it  is  the  absence 
of  all  law,  all  good." 

There  was  a  considerable  silence.  Then  Lopez  went  on 
in  another  key. 

"We  Cubans  carry  heavy  hearts,  but  our  wrongs  have 
made  us  mighty,  and  our  sufferings  have  made  us  brave. 
Here  in  the  orient  we  do  well  enough;  but,  believe  me, 
you  cannot  imagine  the  desolation  and  the  suffering 
farther  west — whole  provinces  made  barren  and  their 
inhabitants  either  dead  or  dying.  The  world  has  never 
seen  anything  like  Weyler's  slaughter  of  the  innocents. 
If  there  is  indeed  a  God — and  sometimes  I  doubt  it — he 
will  not  permit  this  horror  to  continue;  from  every  pool 
of  Cuban  blood  another  patriot  will  spring  up,  until  we 
drive  that  archfiend  and  his  armies  into  the  sea.  Go  back 
to  your  own  country  now,  and  if  your  grief  has  made  you 
one  of  us  in  sympathy,  tell  the  world  what  that  black 
butcher  in  Havana  is  doing,  and  beg  your  Government  to 

196 


THE   CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

recognize  our  belligerency,  so  that  we  may  have  arms. 
Arms!" 

It  was  some  time  before  O'Reilly  spoke;  then  he  said, 
quietly:  "I  am  not  going  back.  I  am  going  to  stay  here 
and  look  for  Rosa." 

"So!"  exclaimed  the  colonel.  "Well,  why  not?  So 
long  as  we  do  not  know  precisely  what  has  happened  to 
her,  we  can  at  least  hope.  But,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
rather  think  of  her  as  dead  than  as  a  prisoner  in  some 
concentration  camp.  You  don't  know  what  those  camps 
are  like,  my  friend,  but  I  do.  Now  I  shall  leave  you. 
One  needs  to  be  alone  at  such  an  hour — eh?"  With  a 
pressure  of  his  hand,  Colonel  Lopez  walked  away  into  the 
darkness. 

Judson  and  his  adventurous  countryman  did  not  see 
O'Reilly  that  night,  nor,  in  fact,  did  any  one.  But  the 
next  morning  he  appeared  before  General  Gomez.  He  was 
haggard,  sick,  listless.  The  old  Porto-Rican  had  heard 
from  Lopez  in  the  mean  time;  he  was  sympathetic. 

"I  am  sorry  you  came  all  the  way  to  hear  such  bad 
news,"  he  said.  "War  is  a  sad,  hopeless  business." 

"But  I  haven't  given  up  hope,"  O'Reilly  said.  "I 
want  to  stay  here  and — and  fight." 

"I  inferred  as  much  from  what  Lopez  told  me."  The 
general  nodded  his  white  head.  "Well,  you'll  make  a 
good  soldier,  and  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you."  He 
extended  his  hand,  and  O'Reilly  took  it  gratefully. 

The  city  of  Matanzas  was  "pacified."  So  ran  the 
boastful  bando  of  the  captain-general.  And  this  was  no 
exaggeration,  as  any  one  could  see  from  the  number  of 
beggars  there.  Of  all  his  military  operations,  this  "pacifi 
cation"  of  the  western  towns  and  provinces  was  the  most 
conspicuously  successful  and  the  one  which  gave  Valeriano 
Weyler  the  keenest  satisfaction;  for  nowhere  did  rebellion 
lift  its  head — except,  perhaps,  among  the  ranks  of  those 

197 


RAINBOW'S    END 

disaffected  men  who  hid  in  the  hills,  with  nothing  above 
them  but  the  open  sky.  As  for  the  population  at  large, 
it  was  cured  of  treason;  it  no  longer  resisted,  even  weakly, 
the  law  of  Spain.  The  reason  was  that  it  lay  dying. 
Weyler's  cure  was  simple,  efficacious — it  consisted  of 
extermination,  swift  and  pitiless. 

Poverty  had  been  common  in  Matanzas,  even  before  the 
war,  but  now  there  were  so  many  beggars  in  the  city  that 
nobody  undertook  to  count  them.  When  the  refugees 
began  to  pour  in  by  the  thousands,  and  when  it  became 
apparent  that  the  Government  intended  to  let  them 
starve,  the  better  citizens  undertook  an  effort  at  relief; 
but  times  were  hard,  food  was  scarce,  and  prices  high. 
Moreover,  it  soon  transpired  that  the  military  frowned 
upon  everything  like  organized  charity,  and  in  consequence 
the  new-comers  were,  perforce,  abandoned  to  their  own 
devices.  These  country  people  were  dumb  and  terrified 
at  the  misfortunes  which  had  overtaken  them;  they 
wandered  the  streets  in  aimless  bewilderment,  fearful  of 
what  blow  might  next  befall.  They  were  not  used  to 
begging,  and  therefore  they  did  not  often  implore  alms; 
but  all  day  long  they  asked  for  work,  for  bread,  that  their 
little  ones  might  live.  Work,  however,  was  even  scarcer 
than  food,  and  the  time  soon  came  when  they  crouched 
upon  curbs  and  door-steps,  hopeless,  beaten,  silently  re 
proachful  of  those  more  fortunate  than  they.  Their  eyes 
grew  big  and  hollow;  their  outstretched  hands  grew 
gaunt  and  skinny.  The  sound  of  weeping  women  and 
fretting  babies  became  a  common  thing  to  hear. 

In  the  suburbs,  just  within  the  ring  of  guardian  forts, 
an  "area  of  cultivation"  was  set  aside,  and  here  the 
prisoners  put  up  huts  of  yagua — comfortless  bark  shelters, 
which  were  well  enough,  perhaps,  in  fair  weather,  but 
sadly  ineffective  against  wind  and  rain.  Here,  housed 
with  hunger  and  crowded  together  in  indescribable 
squalor,  they  dwelt,  seeking  comfort  in  their  common 

198 


THE    CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

wretchedness.  Since  they  had  no  farm  implements,  no 
seeds,  no  means  whatever  of  cultivating  this  ground  ap 
portioned  to  their  use,  it  remained  untilled  while  they 
grew  hungrier  day  by  day.  Outside  the  lines  there  were 
yams,  potatoes,  edible  roots  and  such,  for  the  Spaniards' 
work  of  desolation  had  not  been  quite  complete,  and  no 
hand  can  rob  the  Cuban  soil  of  all  its  riches;  but  the 
•pacificos  were  not  allowed  to  leave  the  city. 

Fish  were  plentiful  in  the  harbor,  too,  but  to  catch 
them  was  forbidden.  Sentries  were  on  guard  with  ready 
rifles  and  bared  machetes;  every  morning  through  the 
filthy  reconcentrado  quarter  guerrillas  drove  pack-mules 
bearing  the  mutilated  bodies  of  those  who  had  dared  dur 
ing  the  night  to  seek  food  surreptitiously.  Sometimes 
they  dragged  these  ghastly  reminders  at  the  ends  of  ropes; 
this,  indeed,  was  a  favorite  way  with  them. 

Dogs  and  cats  became  choice  articles  of  diet,  until  they 
disappeared.  The  Government  did  supply  one  quality 
of  food,  however;  at  intervals,  it  distributed  yucca  roots. 
But  these  were  starchy  and  almost  indigestible.  From 
eating  them  the  children  grew  pinched  in  limb  and  face, 
while  their  abdomens  bloated  hugely.  Matanzas  became 
peopled  with  a  race  of  grotesquely  misshapen  little  folks, 
gnomes  with  young  bodies,  but  with  faces  old  and  sick. 

Of  course  disease  became  epidemic,  for  in  the  leaky 
hovels,  dirt-floored  and  destitute  of  any  convenience, 
there  could  be  no  effort  at  sanitation.  Conditions  became 
unspeakable.  The  children  died  first,  then  the  aged  and 
infirm.  Deaths  in  the  street  were  not  uncommon;  nearly 
every  morning  bodies  were  found  beneath  the  portales. 
Starving  creatures  crept  to  the  market  in  the  hope  of 
begging  a  stray  bit  of  food,  and  some  of  them  died  there, 
between  the  empty  stalls.  The  death-wagons,  heavy  with 
their  daily  freight,  rumbled  ceaselessly  through  the 
streets,  adding  to  the  giant  piles  of  unburied  corpses  out 
side  the  city. 

199 


RAINBOW'S   END 

Typhoid,  smallpox,  yellow  fever,  raged  unchecked. 
The  hospitals  were  crowded,  and  even  in  them  the  com 
monest  necessities  were  lacking.  It  is  believed  that  men 
have  returned  from  the  grave,  but  no  one,  either  Spaniard 
or  Cuban,  had  ever  been  known  to  return  from  one  of 
these  pest-houses,  and,  in  consequence,  those  who  were 
stricken  preferred  to  remain  and  to  die  among  their  dear 
ones. 

Yes,  Matanzas  was  pacified.  Weyler's  boast  was  true. 
Nowhere  in  the  entire  province  was  a  field  in  cultivation ; 
nowhere,  outside  the  garrisoned  towns,  was  a  house  left 
standing.  Nor  was  the  city  of  Matanzas  the  only  con 
centration  camp;  there  were  others  dotted  through  Santa 
Clara,  Habana,  and  Pinar  del  Rio.  In  them  half  a 
million  people  cried  for  food.  Truly  no  rebellious  land 
was  ever  more  completely  pacified  than  this,  no  people's 
spirits  ever  more  completely  crushed.  Voices  no  longer 
preached  resistance;  they  prayed  to  "Our  .Lady  of 
Pity"  for  a  merciful  conclusion  of  this  misery.  Hands 
were  upraised,  but  only  to  implore.  In  leaky  huts 
from  Jucaro  to  Cape  San  Antonio  the  dead  lay  huddled 
thickly. 

Into  Matanzas,  city  of  beggary  and  death,  came  Rosa 
Varona  and  her  two  negro  companions,  looking  for  relief. 
They  made  the  journey  without  mishap,  for  they  were  too 
destitute  to  warrant  plundering,  and  Rosa's  disguise  con 
cealed  what  charms  remained  to  her.  But  once  they  had 
entered  the  city,  what  an  awakening!  What  suffering, 
what  poverty,  what  rags  they  saw!  The  three  of  them 
grew  weak  with  dismay  at  the  horror  of  it  all;  but  there 
was  no  retreat. 

Asensio  built  a  makeshift  shelter  elose  under  La  Cum- 
bre — from  it  the  ruins  of  the  Quinta  de  Esttban  were 
visible — and  there  they  settled  down  to  live.  They  had 
hoped  to  lose  themselves  among  the  other  prisoners,  and 
in  this  they  were  successful,  for  none  of  their  miserable 

200 


THE    CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

neighbors  were  in  any  condition  to  notice  them,  and 
there  was  nothing  sufficiently  conspicuous  about  two 
tattered  blacks  and  their  hunchbacked  daughter  to  draw 
attention  from  the  soldiers. 

Asensio  foraged  zealously,  and  at  first  he  managed 
somehow  to  secure  enough  food  for  his  little  family.  He 
developed  a  real  talent  for  discovering  vegetables  and 
fruits.  He  stole,  he  begged,  and  he  found  food  where 
there  was  none.  One  day  the  soldiers  seized  him  and 
put  him  to  work  on  the  fortifications  along  with  a  gang 
of  other  men  who  appeared  strong  enough  to  stand  hard 
labor.  Asensio  was  not  paid  for  this,  but  he  was  allowed 
one  meal  a  day,  and  he  succeeded  in  bringing  home  each 
night  a  share  of  his  allotment. 

It  is  surprising  how  little  nourishment  will  sustain  life. 
Rosa  and  her  two  friends  had  long  felt  the  pinch  of  hun 
ger,  but  now  they  plumbed  new  depths  of  privation,  for 
there  were  days  when  Asensio  and  his  fellow-conscripts 
received  nothing  at  all.  After  a  time  Evangelina  began 
making  baskets  and  weaving  palm-leaf  hats,  which  she 
sold  at  six  cents  each.  She  taught  Rosa  the  craft,  and 
they  worked  from  dawn  until  dark,  striving  with  nimble, 
tireless  fingers  to  supplement  Asensio's  rations  and  post 
pone  starvation.  But  it  was  a  hopeless  task.  Other 
nimble  fingers  worked  as  tirelessly  as  theirs,  and  the 
demand  for  hats  was  limited. 

Their  hut  overlooked  the  road  to  San  Severino,  that 
via  dolorosa  on  which  condemned  prisoners  were  marched 
out  to  execution,  and  in  time  the  women  learned  to  recog 
nize  the  peculiar  blaring  notes  of  a  certain  cornet,  which 
signified  that  another  "Cuban  cock  was  about  to  crow." 
When  in  the  damp  of  dewy  mornings  they  heard  that 
bugle  they  ceased  their  weaving  long  enough  to  cross 
themselves  and  whisper  a  prayer  for  the  souls  of  those 
who  were  on  their  way  to  die.  But  this  was  the  only 
respite  they  allowed  themselves. 
J4  201 


RAINBOW'S   END 

Rosa  meditated  much  upon  the  contrast  between  her 
present  and  her  former  condition.  Matanzas  was  the 
city  of  her  birth,  and  time  was  when  she  had  trod  its 
streets  in  arrogance  and  pride,  when  she  had  possessed 
friends  by  the  score  among  its  residents.  But  of  all  these 
there  was  not  one  to  whom  she  dared  appeal  in  this, 
her  hour  of  need.  These  were  harsh  times;  Spanish 
hatred  of  the  revolutionists  was  bitter,  and  of  the  Cuban 
sympathizers  none  were  left.  Moreover,  Este"ban's  de 
nouncement  as  a  traitor  had  estranged  all  who  remained 
loyal  to  the  crown,  and  so  far  as  Rosa  herself  was  con 
cerned,  she  knew  that  it  would  not  matter  to  them  that 
she  had  cleaved  to  him  merely  from  sisterly  devotion: 
by  that  act  she  had  made  herself  a  common  enemy  and 
they  would  scarcely  sympathize  with  her  plight.  The  girl 
had  learned  only  too  well  what  spirit  was  abroad.  But 
even  had  she  felt  assured  of  meeting  sympathy,  her  pride 
was  pure  Castilian,  and  it  would  never  down.  She,  a 
Varona,  whose  name  was  one  to  conjure  with,  whose 
lineage  was  of  the  highest !  She  to  beg?  The  thing  was 
quite  impossible.  One  crumb,  so  taken,  would  have 
choked  her.  Rosa  preferred  to  suffer  proudly  and  await 
the  hour  when  hunger  or  disease  would  at  last  blot  out 
her  memories  of  happy  days  and  end  this  nightmare 
misery. 

Then,  too,  she  dreaded  any  risk  of  discovery  by  old 
Mario  de  Castano,  who  was  a  hard,  vindictive  man. 
His  parting  words  had  shown  her  that  he  would  never  for 
give  the  slight  she  had  put  upon  him;  and  she  did  not  wish 
to  put  his  threats  to  the  test.  Once  Rosa  saw  him,  on  her 
way  to  buy  a  few  centavos'  worth  of  sweet-potatoes;  he 
was  huddled  in  his  victoria,  a  huge  bladder  of  flesh,  and 
he  rode  the  streets  deaf  to  the  plaints  of  starving  children, 
blind  to  the  misery  of  beseeching  mothers.  Rosa  shrank 
into  a  doorway  and  drew  her  tattered  shawl  closer  over 
her  face  for  fear  Don  Mario  might  recognize  in  this  mis- 

202 


THE   CITY   OF    BEGGARS    - 

shapen  body  and  in  these  pinched,  discolored  features  the 
beauteous  blossom  he  had  craved. 

Nor  did  she  forget  Colonel  Cobo.  The  man's  memory 
haunted  her,  asleep  and  awake;  of  him  she  was  most 
desperately  afraid.  When  for  the  first  time  she  saw  him 
riding  at  the  head  of  his  cutthroats  she  was  like  to  swoon 
in  her  tracks,  and  for  a  whole  day  thereafter  she  cowered 
in  the  hut,  trembling  at  every  sound. 

In  these  dark  hours  she  recalled  the  stories  of  the  old 
Varona  treasure  and  Est^ban's  interesting  theory  of  its 
whereabouts,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  put  much 
faith  in  either.  At  the  time  of  her  brother's  recital  she 
had  been  swayed  by  his  conviction,  but  now  on  cooler 
thought  a  dozen  explanations  of  Dona  Isabel's  possession 
of  that  doubloon  offered  themselves,  no  one  of  which 
seemed  less  probable  than  Est^ban's.  Of  course  it  was 
barely  possible  that  there  was  indeed  a  treasure,  and 
even  that  Este*ban's  surmise  had  been  correct.  But  it 
was  little  more  than  a  remote  possibility.  Distance  lends 
a  rosy  color  of  reality  to  our  most  absurd  imaginings,  but, 
like  the  haze  that  tints  a  far-off  landscape,  it  dissolves 
upon  approach.  Now  that  Rosa  was  here,  in  sight  of  the 
ruined  quinta  itself,  her  hopes  and  half-beliefs  faded. 

She  wanted,  oh,  so  desperately,  to  believe  in  it,  but 
the  grinding  misery  of  her  situation  made  it  hard  to  do  so. 
Wonders  like  that  came  true  only  in  fairy  stories,  she  told 
herself;  and  certainly  she  had  no  cause  to  consider  herself 
a  favorite  of  fortune. 

More  than  once  she  was  tempted  to  confide  in  Evange- 
lina  and  Asensio,  but  she  thought  better  of  it.  Although 
she  put  implicit  faith  in  Evangelina's  discretion,  she  knew 
that  Asensio  was  not  the  sort  of  fellow  to  be  trusted  with  a 
secret  of  great  magnitude — he  was  boastful,  talkative, 
excitable ;  he  was  just  the  sort  to  bring  destruction  upon 
all  of  them.  Rosa  had  sufficient  intelligence  to  realize 
that  even  if  she  found  her  father's  riches  they  would  only 

203 


RAINBOW'S    END 

constitute  another  and  a  greater  menace  to  the  lives  of 
all  of  them.  Nevertheless,  she  wished  to  set  her  mind 
at  rest  once  and  for  all.  Taking  Evangelina  with  her,  she 
climbed  La  Cumbre  one  day  in  search  of  roots  and  vege 
tables. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  sad  experience  for  both  women. 
The  negress  wept  noisily  at  the  destruction  wrought  by 
Pancho  Cueto,  and  Rosa  was  overcome  by  painful  memo 
ries.  Little  that  was  familiar  remained;  evidence  of 
Cueto's  all-devouring  greed  spoke  from  the  sprouting 
furrows  his  men  had  dug,  from  the  naked  trees  they  had 
felled  and  piled  in  orderly  heaps,  from  the  stones  and 
mortar  of  the  house  itself.  Tears  blinded  Rosa.  After 
a  time  she  left  the  black  woman  mourning  among  the 
ruins  and  stole  away  to  the  sunken  garden.  Here  the 
marks  of  vandalism  were  less  noticeable.  Nevertheless, 
few  signs  of  beauty  remained.  Neglected  vines  drooped 
spiritlessly  from  the  ledges:  such  fruit-trees  as  had  been 
spared  were  sickly  and  untended;  time  and  the  elements 
had  all  but  completed  the  disheartening  work. 

The  well  remained,  although  it  had  been  planked  over, 
but  it  was  partially  filled  up  with  rubbish,  as  Rosa  dis 
covered  when  she  peered  into  it.  Only  a  tiny  pool  of 
scum  was  in  the  bottom.  After  a  long  scrutiny  the  girl 
arose,  convinced  at  last  of  her  brother's  delusion,  and 
vaguely  ashamed  of  her  own  credulity.  This  was  about 
the  last  repository  that  such  a  man  as  Don  Este*ban,  her 
father,  would  have  been  likely  to  select;  for,  after  all,  the 
most  valuable  part  of  his  fortune  had  consisted  of  the 
deeds  of  title  to  the  plantations.  No,  if  ever  there  had 
been  a  treasure,  it  was  hidden  elsewhere;  all  of  value 
that  this  well  contained  for  Rosa  was  her  memory  of  a 
happiness  departed.  Of  such  memories,  the  well,  the 
whole  place,  was  brimful.  Here,  as  a  child,  she  had 
romped  with  Este"ban.  Here,  as  a  girl,  she  had  dreamed 
her  first  dreams,  and  here  O'Reilly,  her  smiling  knight, 

204 


THE    CITY   OF    BEGGARS 

had  found  her.  Yonder  was  the  very  spot  where  he  had 
held  her  in  his  arms  and  begged  her  to  await  the  day  of 
his  return.  Well,  she  had  waited. 

But  was  that  Rosa  Varona  who  had  promised  so  freely 
and  so  confidently  this  pitiful  Rosa  whose  bones  pro 
truded  through  her  rags?  It  could  not  be.  Happiness, 
contentment,  hope — these  were  fictions;  only  misery, 
despair,  and  pain  were  real.  But  it  had  been  a  glorious 
dream,  at  any  rate — a  dream  which  Rosa  vowed  to  cherish 
always. 

Evangelina  found  the  girl  .sitting  in  the  sun,  her  thin 
face  radiant,  her  great  eyes  wet  but  smiling. 

"Come,  little  dove,"  said  the  negress,  "there  is  nothing 
here  to  eat;  we  must  get  back  to  our  weaving." 


XVIII 

SPEAKING  OF  FOOD 

IT  was  part  of  the  strategy  practised  by  the  Cuban 
leaders  to  divide  their  forces  into  separate  columns  for 
the  purpose  of  raiding  the  smaller  Spanish  garrisons  and 
harassing  the  troops  sent  to  their  relief,  reassembling 
these  bands  only  when  and  where  some  telling  blow  was 
to  be  struck.  Not  only  had  the  military  value  of  this 
practice  been  amply  demonstrated,  but  it  had  been 
proved  a  necessity,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  Insurrectos 
were  compelled  to  live  off  the  country. 

When  O'Reilly  and  Branch  enlisted  in  the  Army  of  the 
Orient  they  were  assigned  to  the  command  of  Colonel 
Miguel  Lopez,  and  it  was  under  his  leadership  that  they 
made  their  first  acquaintance  with  the  peculiar  methods 
of  Cuban  warfare. 

Active  service  for  the  two  Americans  began  at  once; 
scarcely  a  week  had  passed  before  Leslie  Branch  gained 
his  opportunity  of  tasting  the  "salt  of  life"  in  its  full 
flavor,  for  the  young  Matanzas  colonel  was  one  of  the 
few  Cuban  commanders  who  really  enjoyed  a  fight. 

There  had  been,  at  first,  some  doubt  of  Branch's 
fitness  to  take  the  field  at  all — he  had  suffered  a  severe 
hemorrhage  shortly  after  his  arrival  at  Cubitas — and  it 
was  only  after  a  hysterical  demonstration  on  his  part 
that  he  had  been  accepted  as  a  soldier.  He  simply  would 
not  be  left  behind.  At  first  the  Cubans  regarded  him 
with  mingled  contempt  and  pity,  for  certainly  no  less 

206 


promising  volunteer  had  ever  taken  service  with  them. 
Nevertheless,  he  would  doubtless  have  made  many 
friends  among  them  had  he  not  begun  his  service  by  re 
fusing  to  abide  by  discipline  of  any  sort  and  by  scorning 
all  instruction  in  the  use  of  arms,  declaring  this  to  be,  in 
his  case,  a  silly  waste  of  effort.  Such  an  attitude  very 
naturally  aroused  resentment  among  the  other  men; 
it  was  not  long  before  they  began  to  grumble  at  the 
liberty  allowed  this  headstrong  weakling.  But  upon  the 
occasion  of  the  very  first  fight  this  ill-will  disappeared  as 
if  by  magic,  for,  although  Branch  deliberately  disobeyed 
orders,  he  nevertheless  displayed  such  amazing  audacity 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  such  a  theatrical  contempt  for 
bullets,  as  to  stupefy  every  one.  Moreover,  he  lived  up 
to  his  reputation;  he  continued  to  be  insanely  daring, 
varying  his  exploits  to  correspond  with  his  moods,  with 
the  result  that  he  attained  a  popularity  which  was  unique, 
nay,  sensational. 

His  conduct  in  the  face  of  this  general  admiration  was 
no  less  unexpected  than  his  behavior  under  fire:  Branch 
gruffly  refused  to  accept  any  tribute  whatever;  he  snarled, 
he  fairly  barked  at  those  of  his  comrades  who  tried  to 
express  their  appreciation  of  his  conduct — a  demeanor 
which. of  course  awakened  even  greater  admiration  among 
the  Cubans.  He  was  uniformly  surly  and  sour;  he 
sneered,  he  scoffed,  he  found  fault.  He  had  the  tongue  of 
a  common  scold,  and  he  used  it  with  malevolent  abandon. 

It  was  fortunate  indeed  that  he  knew  no  Spanish  and 
that  most  of  his  companions  were  equally  ignorant  of 
English,  for  mere  admiration,  even  of  the  fervent  Latin 
quality,  would  scarcely  have  been  proof  against  his 
spleen.  As  it  was,  his  camp-mates  endured  his  vitupera 
tions  blandly,  putting  him  down  as  a  pleasing  eccentric  in 
whom  there  blazed  a  curious  but  inspiring  spirit  of  pa 
triotism. 

O'Reilly  alone  understood  the  reason  for  the  fellow's 

207 


RAINBOW'S    END 

morbid  irritability,  his  suicidal  recklessness;  but  when  he 
privately  remonstrated  he  was  gruffly  told  to  mind  his 
own  business.  Branch  flatly  refused  to  modify  his  con 
duct;  he  seemed  really  bent  upon  cheating  the  disease 
that  made  his  life  a  misery. 

But,  as  usual,  Fate  was  perverse;  she  refused  to  humor 
the  sick  man's  hope.  When,  after  blindly  inviting  death, 
Leslie  had  emerged  from  several  engagements  unscathed, 
his  surprise — and  perhaps  a  natural  relief  at  finding  him 
self  whole — became  tinged  with  a  certain  apprehension 
lest  he  survive  those  deliberately  courted  dangers,  only 
to  succumb  to  the  ills  and  privations  of  camp  life.  Cuban 
equipment  was  of  the  scantiest.  Cuban  dews  are  heavy; 
Cuban  nights  are  cool — these  were  perils  indeed  for  a 
weak-lunged  invalid.  Branch  began  to  fret.  Rain  filled 
him  with  more  terror  than  fixed  bayonets,  a  chill  caused 
him  keener  consternation  than  did  a  thousand  Spaniards; 
he  began  to  have  agonizing  visions  of  himself  lying  in  some 
leaky  hovel  of  a  hospital.  It  was  typical  of  his  peculiar 
irritability  that  he  held  O'Reilly  in  some  way  responsible, 
and  vented  upon  him  his  bitterness  of  spirit. 

The  fellow's  tongue  grew  ever  sharper;  his  society  be 
came  intolerable,  his  gloom  oppressive  and  irresistibly 
contagious.  When,  after  several  weeks  of  campaigning, 
the  column  went  into  camp  for  a  short  rest,  O'Reilly  de 
cided  that  he  would  try  to  throw  off  the  burden  of  Leslie's 
overwhelming  dejection,  and,  if  possible,  shift  a  portion 
of  it  upon  the  shoulders  of  Captain  Judson. 

On  the  day  after  their  arrival  O'Reilly  and  the  big 
artilleryman  took  advantage  of  a  pleasant  stream  to 
bathe  and  wash  their  clothes;  then,  while  they  lay  in  their 
hammocks,  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  tattered  oil-cloth 
shelter  and  waiting  for  the  sun  to  dry  their  garments, 
O'Reilly  spoke  what  was  in  his  mind. 

"I'm  getting  about  fed  up  on  Leslie,"  he  declared. 
"He's  the  world's  champion  cr£pe-hanger,  and  he's 

208 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

painted  the  whole  world  such  a  deep,  despondent  blue 
that  I'm  completely  dismal.  You've  got  to  take  him  off 
my  hands." 

Judson  grunted.     ' '  What  ails  him  ?' ' 

"Well,  he  wears  a  wreath  of  immortelles  day  and  night. 
Haven't  you  guessed  why  he  runs  such  desperate  chances? 
He's  sick — thinks  he's  going  to  die,  anyhow,  and  wants  to 
finish  the  job  quick.  I'm  the  one  who  has  to  endure 
him." 

"Suicide?" 

"It  amounts  to  that." 

' '  The  devil !' '  Judson  pondered  for  a  moment.  ' '  Can't 
you  cheer  him  up?" 

"I?"  O'Reilly  lifted  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  help 
lessness.  "When  I  try  he  gets  sore  at  my  heartless  in 
difference;  when  I  sympathize  he  declares  I'm  nudging 
him  closer  to  his  grave — says  I'm  kicking  the  crutches  out 
from  under  him.  He's  just  plain  vitriol.  I — I'd  rather 
live  with  an  adder!" 

O'Reilly's  youthful  asistente,  who  at  the  moment  was 
painstakingly  manufacturing  a  huge,  black  cigar  for  him 
self  out  of  some  purloined  tobacco,  pricked  up  his  ears 
at  the  mention  of  Branch's  name  and  now  edged  closer, 
exclaiming: 

"Caramba!  There's  a  hero  for  you.  Meester  Branch 
is  the  bravest  man  I  ever  seen.  Our  people  call  him  'El 
Demonio'!" 

O'Reilly  jerked  his  head  toward  the  Cuban.  "You 
see?  He's  made  the  hit  of  his  life,  and  yet  he  resents  it. 
The  Cubans  are  beginning  to  think  he  carries  a  rabbit's 
foot." 

"No  rabbit's  foot  about  it,"  the  captain  asserted. 
"He's  just  so  blamed  thin  the  Spaniards  can't  hit  him; 
it's  like  shooting  at  the  edge  of  a  playing-card.  Annie 
Oakley  is  the  only  one  who  can  do  that." 

"Well,  my  nerves  are  frayed  out.     I've  argued  myself 

209 


hoarse,  but  he  misconstrues  everything  I  say.  I  wish 
you'd  convince  him  that  he  has  a  chance  to  get  well;  it 
might  alter  his  disposition.  If  something  doesn't  alter  it 
I'll  be  court-martialed  for  shooting  a  man  in  his  sleep — 
and  I'll  hit  him,  right  in  the  middle,  no  matter  how  slim 
he  is."  O'Reilly  compressed  his  lips  firmly. 

The  asistente,  who  had  finished  rolling  his  cigar,  now 
lighted  it  and  repeated:  "Yes,  sir,  Meester  Branch  is  the 
bravest  man  I  ever  seen.  You  remember  that  first  battle, 
eh?  Those  Spaniards  seen  him  comin'  and  threw  down 
their  guns  and  beat  it.  Jesus  Cristo!  I  laugh  to  skill 
myself  that  day." 

"Jacket "  was  at  once  the  youngest  and  the  most  profane 
member  of  Colonel  Lopez's  entire  command.  The  most 
shocking  oaths  fell  from  his  beardless  lips  whenever  he 
opened  them  to  speak  English,  and  O'Reilly's  efforts  to 
break  the  boy  of  the  habit  proved  quite  unavailing. 

"  Colonel  Miguel,"  continued  Jacket,  "he  say  if  he's  got 
a  hunnerd  sick  men  like  El  Demonio  he'll  march  to 
Habana.  By  God!  What  you  think  of  that?" 

Judson  rolled  in  his  hammock  until  his  eyes  rested  upon 
the  youth.  Then  he  said,  "You're  quite  a  man  of  arms 
yourself,  for  a  half-portion." 

"Eh?"  The  object  of  this  remark  was  not  quite  sure 
that  he  understood. 

"I  mean  you're  a  pretty  good  fighter,  for  a  little 
fellow." 

"Hell,  yes!"  agreed  the  youth.     "I  can  fight." 

"Better  look  out  that  some  big  Spaniard  doesn't  carry 
you  off  in  his  pocket  and  eat  you,"  O'Reilly  warned;  at 
which  the  boy  grinned  and  shook  his  head.  He  was 
just  becoming  accustomed  to  the  American  habit  of 
banter,  and  was  beginning  to  like  it. 

"Jacket  would  make  a  bitter  mouthful,"  Judson  ven 
tured. 

The  lad  smiled  gently  and  drew  on  his  huge  cigar. 

210 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

"You  betcher  life.  That Spaniard  would  spit 

me  out  quick  enough." 

This  Camagueyan  boy  was  a  character.  He  was  per 
haps  sixteen,  and  small  for  his  age — a  mere  child,  in  fact. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  a  seasoned  veteran,  and  his  American 
camp-mates  had  grown  exceedingly  fond  of  him.  He  was 
a  pretty,  graceful  youngster;  his  eyes  were  large  and  soft 
and  dark;  his  face  was  as  sensitive  and  mobile  as  that 
of  a  girl ;  and  yet,  despite  his  youth,  he  had  won  a  reputa 
tion  for  daring  and  ferocity  quite  as  notable  in  its  way  as 
was  the  renown  of  Leslie  Branch. 

There  were  many  of  these  immature  soldiers  among  the 
Insurrectos,  and  most  of  them  were  in  some  way  distin 
guished  for  valor.  War,  it  seems,  fattens  upon  the  ten- 
derest  of  foods,  and  every  army  has  its  boys — its  won 
drous,  well-beloved  infants,  whom  their  older  comrades 
tease,  torment,  and  idolize.  Impetuous,  drunk  with 
youth,  and  keeping  no  company  with  care,  they  form  the 
very  aristocracy  of  fighting  forces.  They  gaily  undertake 
the  maddest  of  adventures;  and  by  their  examples  they 
fire  the  courage  of  their  maturer  comrades.  All  history 
is  spiced  with  their  exploits. 

Jacket  was  one  of  these,  and  he  was  perhaps  the  truest 
patriot  of  any  soldier  in  Miguel  Lopez's  band;  for  liberty, 
to  him,  was  not  a  mere  abstraction  or  a  principle,  but 
something  real,  tangible,  alive — something  worthy  of  the 
highest  sacrifice.  In  his  person  all  the  wrongs  of  Cuba 
burned  perpetually.  It  mattered  not  that  he  himself 
had  never  suffered — his  spirit  was  the  spirit  of  his  country, 
pure,  exalted,  undefined.  He  stood  for  what  the  others 
fought  for. 

In  order  to  expand  his  knowledge  of  English — of  which, 
by  the  way,  he  was  inordinately  proud — Jacket  had 
volunteered  to  serve  as  O'Reilly's  striker,  and  the  result 
had  been  a  fast  friendship.  It  was  O'Reilly  who  had 
given  the  boy  his  nickname — a  name  prompted  by  a 

211 


RAINBOW'S    END 

marked  eccentricity,  for  although  Jacket  possessed  the 
two  garments  which  constituted  the  ordinary  Insurrecto 
uniform,  he  made  a  practice  of  wearing  only  one.  On 
chilly  nights,  or  on  formal  occasions,  he  wore  both  waist 
coat  and  trousers,  but  at  other  times  he  dispensed  entirely 
with  the  latter,  and  his  legs  went  naked.  They  were 
naked  now,  as,  with  the  modesty  of  complete  uncon 
sciousness,  he  squatted  in  the  shade,  puffing  thoughtfully 
at  his  giant  cheroot. 

Once  Jacket's  mind  was  fastened  upon  any  subject,  it 
remained  there,  and  after  a  time  he  continued: 

"Yes,  I  bet  I  don't  taste  good  to  no  Spaniard.  Did  I 
told  you  about  that  battle  of  Pino  Bravo?  Eh?"  He 
turned  his  big  brown  eyes  upward  to  O'Reilly.  "Cristo! 
I  skill  more'n  a  dozen  men  that  day !" 

"Oh,  Jacket!"  the  Americans  cried.  "You  monstrous 
little  liar!"  commented  O'Reilly. 

"Si,  senors,"  the  boy  went  on,  complacently.  "That 
day  I  skill  more'n  six  men.  It  was  this  way;  we  came  on 
them  from  behind  and  they  don't  see  us.  Phui!  We 
skill  plenty,  all  right!" 

"  It  was  a  hot  scrimmage,"  Judson  attested.  "Some  of 
Luque's  niggers,  those  tall,  lean,  hungry  fellows  from 
Santiago,  managed  to  hack  their  way  through  a  wire  fence 
and  get  behind  a  detachment  of  the  enemy  who  had 
made  a  stand  under  a  hill.  They  charged,  and  for  a 
wonder  they  got  close  enough  to  use  their  machetes. 
It  was  bloody  work — the  kind  you  read  about — no 
quarter.  Somehow  Jacket  managed  to  be  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  butchery.  He's  a  bravo  kid,  all  right. 
Muy  malo!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Judson  continued: 
"Funny  thing  happened  afterward,  though.  Jacket  had 
to  do  his  turn  at  picket  duty  that  night,  and  he  got 
scared  of  the  dark.  We  heard  him  squalling  and  scream 
ing-" 

212 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

Jacket  started  to  his  feet.  "That's  a  dam'  lie,"  he 
exclaimed,  resentfully.  "I'm  not  scared  of  no  dark." 

"  Didn't  you  holler  till  you  woke  the  whole  camp?" 

"I  ain't  scared  of  no  dark,"  the  boy  repeated;  but  his 
pride,  his  complacency,  had  suddenly  vanished.  He  dug 
his  toes  into  the  dirt;  in  his  eyes  were  tears  of  mortifica 
tion.  His  cigar  had  evidently  become  tasteless,  for  he 
removed  it  from  his  lips  and  gazed  at  it  indifferently. 

" Did  you  cry?"  O'Reilly  smiled;  and  the  lad  nodded 
reluctantly. 

"Did  he  cry?"  Judson  echoed.  "Why,  we  thought  we 
were  attacked.  He  put  the  whole  camp  in  an  uproar." 

"What  was  the  trouble,  Jacket?" 

"I — I  was — "  The  boy's  smooth  brown  cheeks  paled, 
and  his  moist  eyes  dilated  at  the  memory.  "I  ain't 

scared  of  any Spaniard  when  he's  alive,  but — 

it's  different  when  he's  dead.  I  could  see  dead  ones 
everywhere!"  He  shuddered  involuntarily.  "They 
fetched  me  to  General  Gomez  and — Caramba!  he's  mad. 
But  after  I  tell  him  what  I  seen  in  the  dark  he  say  I 
don't  have  to  go  back  there  no  more.  He  let  me  go  to 
sleep  'longside  of  his  hammock,  and  bimeby  I  quit 
cryin'.  I  ain't  never  stood  no  picket  duty  since  that 
night.  I  won't  do  it." 

It  was  plain  that  discussion  of  this  unhappy  subject  was 
deeply  distasteful  to  the  youthful  hero  of  Pino  Bravo,  for 
he  edged  away,  and  a  moment  later  disappeared. 

"Queer  little  youngster,"  Captain  Judson  said,  medi 
tatively.  "  He  idolizes  you." 

O'Reilly  nodded.  "Yes,  poor  little  kid.  I  wonder 
what  will  become  of  him  after  the  war?  After  the  war!" 
he  mused.  "I  wonder  if  it  will  ever  end." 

"Humph!  If  we  had  more  generals  like  Gomez  and 
Garcia  and  Maceo — " 

"We've  got  three  better  generals  than  they." 

"  You  mean— " 

213 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Generals  June,  July,  and  August." 

"Oh  yes!"  The  artilleryman  nodded  his  understand 
ing.  ' '  There's  no  end  of  yellow-jack  among  the  Spaniards. 
Speaking  of  that,  what  do  you  think  of  Miss  Evans's  work 
in  the  field  hospitals?" 

Judson  shifted  his  weight  so  that  his  eyes  could  rest 
upon  a  white  tent  which  showed  through  the  greenery  at  a 
distance;  it  was  the  one  tent  in  all  the  encampment,  and 
it  had  been  erected  that  very  morning  to  shelter  Norine 
Evans,  but  just  arrived  from  headquarters  in  the  Cubitas 
hills.  The  captain's  lids  were  half  closed;  his  heavy, 
homely  face  was  softened  by  a  peculiar  rapt  expression. 
He  did  not  seem  to  expect  an  answer  to  his  question. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  it,"  O'Reilly  confessed. 

"You  don't!"  Judson  brought  himself  back  to  earth 
with  a  start.  "Humph!  Well,  I  think  it's  perfectly 
wonderful.  I  think  she's  the  most  wonderful  woman, 
and — "  His  voice  died  out;  he  turned  once  more  in  the 
direction  of  the  tent. 

O'Reilly  smiled,  understanding  now  the  reason  for  his 
companion's  reckless,  almost  frenzied  use  of  soap  and 
water  that  morning,  and  his  cheerful  stoicism  in  the  hands 
of  a  volunteer  barber  more  accustomed  to  the  uses  of  a 
machete  than  a  razor. 

Evidently  Judson  had  fallen,  too — along  with  Major 
Ramos,  and  Colonel  Lopez,  and  Leslie  Branch,  and  all 
the  rest.  Well,  it  was  to  be  expected.  Before  he  had 
been  a  week  in  Cuba  O'Reilly  had  noticed  that  Miss  Evans 
was  a  mystery  and  a  delight  to  nearly  every  man  she  met. 

"So  you've  got  it,  eh?"  he  inquired. 

"Got  what?"    Judson  did  not  turn  his  eyes. 

"It." 

"It?    If  you  can't  talk  English,  talk  Spanish." 

O'Reilly  was  not  perturbed  by  this  gniffness.  "I 
think  her  presence  here  is  the  silliest,  the  most  scandalous 
thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  said  he.  "The  idea  of  a  girl  of  her 

214 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

accomplishments,  her  means,  alone  in  Cuba!    Why,  it's 
criminal!" 

Judson's  gunny-sacking  hammock  bulged  beneath  him. 
It  threatened  to  give  way  as  he  sat  up  with  a  jerk  and 
swung  his  bare  legs  over  the  side.  His  face  was  dark; 
he  was  scowling;  his  chin  was  pugnaciously  outthrust 
and  his  voice  rumbled  as  he  exclaimed : 

" The  deuce  it  is !  Say!  I  don't  like  the  way  you  talk 
about  that  girl." 

"You  don't,  eh?"  O'Reilly  eyed  him  quizzically. 
"Would  you  care  to  have  your  sister  do  what  she's  doing?" 

"That's  not  the  point.  You  can't  compare  her  with 
ordinary  women." 

"Well,  this  isn't  an  ordinary  environment  for  a  woman, 
no  matter  who  she  is.  These  Cubans  are  bound  to  talk 
about  her." 

"Are  they?"  Judson  glared  at  the  speaker.  "I'd  like 
to  hear  'em.  I'd  like  to  see  somebody  get  fresh.  Why, 
say!" — he  clenched  his  powerful  hands — "I'd  fill  their 
hospitals  until  they  bulged."  After  a  moment  he  con 
tinued:  "I  s'pose  it's  natural  for  you  to  worry,  since 
you're  responsible  for  her  being  here,  in  a  way,  but — " 
His  tone  changed,  he  relaxed  and  lay  back  in  his  ham 
mock.  "Oh,  well,  you're  about  the  only  man  I  can't 
hate." 

' '  Jealous,  are  you  ?    I  didn't  know  you  were  in  so  deep. ' ' 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "Oh,  I'm  daffy.  D'you 
think  she'd  have  me?" 

"Not  a  chance." 

"Hey?  Why  not?  I'm  a  good  big  husky — I'll  get  a 
Government  job  when  the  war  is  over  and — " 

"That's  just  the  trouble.  She'll  fall  for  some  poor, 
sickly  unfortunate,  with  one  leg.  She's  the  sort  that 
always  does.  She's  the  sort  that  has  to  have  something  to 
'mother.'  Lord,  I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  see  her  safely 
back  in  New  York!" 

215 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Judson,  it  seemed,  had  a  better  understanding  of  artil 
lery  than  of  women;  he  pondered  O'Reilly's  statement 
seriously,  and  his  face  clouded. 

"Some  sickly  fellow.  Some  fellow  like  Branch,  eh?" 
After  a  moment  he  continued,  more  hopefully:  "Well,  it 
won't  be  him;  he'll  soon  be  dead.  There's  some  consola 
tion  in  that.  I  could  almost — " 

O'Reilly  motioned  for  silence,  for  at  that  moment 
Branch  himself  approached,  his  long  face  set  in  lines  of 
discontent,  even  deeper  than  usual.  He  had  been  wander 
ing  about  the  camp  in  one  of  his  restless  fits,  and  now  he 
began: 

"Say,  what  do  you  think  I've  been  doing?" 

"I  dun'no',"  Captain  Judson  answered,  morosely. 
"Cheering  the  sick  and  wounded;  shedding  smiles  and 
sunshine  as  usual,  I  suppose?" 

"Hunh!  You're  a  funny  guy,  aren't  you? — about  as 
comical  as  a  chloroform  cone.  You  make  me  laugh,  you 
do — just  like  a  broken  leg.  Well,  I've  been  looking  up 
some  grub  for  Miss  Evans,  and  I  can't  find  any." 

"Can't  find  any?" 

"Nothing  fit  for  her  to  eat.  You  don't  expect  her  to 
live  on  this  infernal,  eternal,  and  internal  beef  stew." 
Branch  shuddered  and  gagged  slightly.  "I've  eaten  parts 
of  animals  that  were  never  intended  to  be  eaten.  This 
rebel  grub  is  killing  me.  What  '11  it  do  to  her?" 

"Didn't  Major  Ramos  bring  anything  along?"  O'Reilly 
asked. 

"He  says  there's  a  famine  at  Cubitas." 

"We'd  better  look  into  this,"  Judson  exclaimed,  and, 
finding  that  his  clothes  were  dry,  he  hurriedly  began  to 
dress  himself. 

Together,  the  three  men  made  an  investigation  of  the 
camp's  resources,  only  to  discover  that  Branch  was  right. 
There  was,  indeed,  but  little  food  of  any  kind,  and  that 
little  was  of  the  coarsest.  Ordinarily,  such  a  condition  of 

216 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

affairs  would  have  occasioned  them  no  surprise,  for  the 
men  were  becoming  accustomed  to  a  more  or  less  chronic 
scarcity  of  provisions;  but  the  presence  of  Norine  Evans 
put  quite  a  different  complexion  upon  the  matter.  They 
were  still  discussing  the  situation  when  Miss  Evans, 
having  finished  her  afternoon  nap,  threw  open  the  flaps 
of  her  tent  and  stepped  out. 

When  she  had  listened  to  the  account  apologetically 
submitted  by  her  three  friends,  she  drew  her  brows  to 
gether,  saying,  plaintively:  "Oh  dear!  We've  been 
going  short  for  a  week,  and  Major  Ramos  told  me  we'd 
fare  better  when  we  got  here.  I  had  my  mouth  all  set 
for  a  banquet.  Couldn't  you  even  find  the  poor  dog  a 
bone?" 

Norine  was  thinner  and  browner  than  when  she  had 
come  to  Cuba,  but  she  in  no  way  showed  the  effect  of  any 
serious  or  continued  lack  of  nourishment.  In  fact,  a 
simple  diet  and  an  outdoor  life  had  agreed  with  her 
amazingly. 

"I'm  afraid  the  cupboard  is  bare,"  O'Reilly  acknowl 
edged. 

"They're  getting  ready  to  slaughter  another  gutta- 
percha  ox, ' '  Branch  said,  gloomily.  ' '  He's  a  veteran  of  the 
Ten  Years'  War.  That  means  stew  again!  STEW!  One 
puncture-proof,  rubber  ox  and  a  bushel  of  sweet-potatoes 
for  four  hundred  men !" 

"Do  you  know  what  I  want  for  dinner?"  Norine  in 
quired.  "Lamb  chops  with  green  peas,  some  nice  white 
bread,  a  salad,  and  coffee." 

The  three  men  looked  at  her  anxiously.  Judson  stirred 
uneasily. 

"That's  what  I  want.    I  don't  expect  to  get  it." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  the  captain  exclaimed,  "I  thought 
you  were  giving  your  order." 

"Goodness,  no!"  With  a  laugh  the  girl  seated  herself 
upon  her  one  camp-chair,  inviting  her  callers  to  dispose 
15  217 


RAINBOW'S    END 

themselves  on  the  ground  about  her.  "If  you  can  stand 
the  food,  I  dare  say  I  can.  Now  then,  tell  me  what 
you've  been  doing  since  you  left  Cubitas.  I've  been 
frightened  to  death  that  some  of  you  would  be  hurt. 
That's  one  reason  why  I've  been  working  night  and  day 
helping  to  get  the  hospitals  in  shape.  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  our  boys  being  wounded." 

"Not  much  chance  of  our  getting  shot,"  O'Reilly  told 
her.  "But  Leslie — he  needs  a  good  talking  to.  He  has 
gone  into  the  hero  business." 

Branch  uttered  a  disdainful  grunt.  "Nothing  of  the 
sort.  I'm  a  sick  man;  if  I'd  rather  get  shot  than  suffer  a 
slow  death  from  neglect,  it's  my  own  business,  isn't  it? 
Imagine  feeding  an  invalid  on  boiled  bicycle  tires!  Gee! 
I'd  like  to  have  a  meal  of  nice  nourishing  ptomaines  for  a 
change.  Hero?  Humph!" 

Norine  eyed  the  complainant  critically,  then  said:  "The 
diet  agrees  with  you.  You  look  better  than  you  did." 

Branch  turned  a  somber  glance  upon  her  and  gave  vent 
to  a  bitter,  sneering  laugh.  It  was  plain  that  he  believed 
she,  too,  was  attempting  to  pull  the  wool  over  his  eyes. 
"I  wish  I  could  find  some  poisonous  toadstools.  I'd  eat 
'em  raw." 

"Listen,"  Norine  went  on.  "Let's  play  a  game. 
We'll  imagine  this  is  Delmonico's  and  we'll  all  take  turns 
ordering  the  best  things  to  eat  that  we  can  think  of. 
The  one  who  orders  best,  wins.  We'll  call  the  game — " 
She  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"Call  it  'Vittles,'"  O'Reilly  suggested. 

"'Vittles'  it  is.  Maybe  it  will  give  us  an  appetite  for 
supper.  Leslie,  you  begin.  Come  now,  hand  your  hat  to 
the  hat-boy,  then  follow  the  head  waiter.  This  way,  sir. 
Table  for  one?  Very  good,  sir.  Here's  a  cool  one,  in 
front  of  the  electric  fan.  We  have  an  exceptional  selection 
of  cold  dishes  to-day,  sir.  Perhaps  you  would  like  a  nice 
halibut  salad — " 

218 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

"No  halibut  salad,"  Branch  answered,  striving  valiantly 
to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  Norine's  pretending.  "I  had 
it  for  breakfast.  And  say,  turn  off  that  fan;  I'm  just  back 
from  Cuba.  Now  then,  you  may  bring  me  some  oys 
ters—" 

"Oysters  are  out  of  season,"  O'Reilly  murmured,  po 
litely,  "but  our  clams  are  very  fine." 

"Some  oysters,"  Branch  insisted,  stubbornly.  "After 
that,  a  cup  of  chicken  broth,  a  grilled  sweetbread,  and 
toast  Melba." 

Joe  Judson  put  an  abrupt  end  to  the  invalid's  meal  by 
hurling  a  clod  at  him,  crying:  "You're  in  Delmonico's,  not 
in  Battle  Creek.  Let  somebody  order  who  knows  how. 
We'll  have  steak  and  onions  all  around." 

"I  want  strawberries!"  Norine  cried.  "They're  ripe 
now.  Strawberries  and  cream —  Oh-h!  Think  of  it!" 

There  was  a  tense  silence,  which  O'Reilly  broke  by  say 
ing,  "  I  guess  '  Vittles'  isn't  a  very  good  game,  after  all." 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  fill  my  wants,"  the  girl  acknowl 
edged.  "Let's  talk  about  something  else." 

Miss  Evans  did  seem  truly  concerned  for  the  welfare  of 
her  "boys,"  as  she  termed  the  little  group  of  Americans 
whom  she  had  met,  and  she  showed,  by  asking  numerous 
questions,  that  her  interest  was  keen. 

The  men  were  glad  to  talk  and  she  soon  gained  an  in 
sight  into  the  peculiar,  aimless,  unsatisfactory,  and  yet 
effective  method  of  warfare  practised  by  the  Insurrecto 
armies ;  they  told  her  of  the  endless  marches  and  counter 
marches,  the  occasional  skirmishes,  the  feints,  the  incon 
clusive  engagements  which  were  all  a  part  of  the  general 
strategy — operations  which  served  to  keep  the  enemy 
constantly  on  guard,  like  a  blind  swordsman,  and  would, 
it  was  hoped,  eventually  wear  down  his  patience  and 
endurance.  In  her  turn,  Norine  related  something  of 
what  she  was  doing  and  how  her  labor  of  mercy  progressed. 

"I'm  nearly  discouraged,"  she  confessed,  finally. 

219 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Everything  is  so  different  to  what  I  thought  it  would 
be,  and  I'm  so  weak  and  ineffective.  The  medical  sup 
plies  I  brought  are  nearly  all  gone,  and  I've  learned  what 
hard  work  it  is  fitting  up  hospitals  when  there's  nothing 
to  fit  them  up  with.  I  can't  teach  these  people  to  take 
care  of  themselves — they  seem  to  consider  precautions 
against  disease  as  a  confession  of  cowardice.  Summer, 
the  yellow-fever  season,  is  here  and — well,  I'm  getting 
disheartened.  Disheartened  and  hungry!  They're  new 
sensations  to  me."  She  sighed.  "I  imagined  I  was 
going  to  work  wonders — I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  a 
Florence  Nightingale,  and  the  men  were  going  to  idolize 
me." 

"Don't  they?"  Judson  demanded. 

"No.     That  is — not  in  exactly  the  way  I  expected." 

"They  all  want  to  marry  her,"  O'Reilly  explained. 

"Insolent  bunch!"  growled  the  captain.  Then  he 
swallowed  hard  and  said,  "But  for  that  matter,  so  do  I." 

"Why,  Joe!"  Norine  cast  a  startled  glance  at  the  big 
fellow. 

"It's  a  fact,"  he  asserted,  doggedly.  "I  might  as  well 
declare  myself  here  and  now.  There's  always  a  gang  of 
eavesdroppers  hanging  around  you." 

"He  means  you,  Leslie,"  O'Reilly  said.  "Hadn't  you 
better  take  a  walk?" 

Branch  rolled  a  hostile  eye  at  the  artilleryman,  and  his 
lip  curled.  "I'll  not  move.  When  he  gets  through,  I'll 
propose." 

"How  silly  you  boys  can  be!"  Norine  laughed.  "I 
dare  say  the  others  are  joking  too,  but — " 

"Joking?"  O'Reilly  grinned.  "Not  at  all.  I'm  the 
only  single  man  in  camp  who  isn't  in  love  with  you. 
When  you  arrived  this  morning  there  was  a  general 
stampede  for  the  river.  I'll  bet  the  fish  in  this  stream  will 
taste  of  soap  for  years  to  come." 

As  if  to  point  O'Reilly's  words  at  the  moment  appeared 

220 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

Colonel  Lopez,  shaved  blood-raw  and  clad  in  a  recently 
laundered  uniform  which  was  still  damp.  The  three 
Americans  rose  to  salute  him,  but  discipline  was  lax  and 
he  waved  them  back  to  their  seats.  Other  eyes  than  his, 
too,  had  noted  Miss  Evans's  reappearance  after  her 
siesta,  for  Major  Ramos,  Norine's  escort  from  head 
quarters,  soon  joined  the  group,  and  he  was  followed  by 
two  Camagueyan  lieutenants. 

These  latter  were  youths  of  some  family  standing. 
Before  the  war  they  had  been  dandies,  and  they  still  had 
an  excellent  opinion  of  their  physical  charms,  but,  unfor 
tunately,  they  spoke  no  English  and  hence  their  atten 
tions  to  Norine  had  been  somewhat  vague  and  pointless. 
They  possessed  eloquent  eyes,  however,  and  now  they 
languished  melting  glances  upon  her,  the  meaning  of 
which  she  had  no  difficulty  in  translating. 

"We've  been  talking  about  food,"  Leslie  Branch  ad 
vised  his  commanding  officer.  "Miss  Evans  isn't  a 
burning  patriot  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  so  of  course  she 
can't  share  our  ravenous  appetite  for  beef  cooked  and 
eaten  on  the  hoof." 

"So?"  Lopez's  handsome  face  clouded.  "You  are 
hungry,  then?" 

Norine  confessed  that  she  was.  "I'm  starving!"  said 
she.  "  I  haven't  had  a  decent  meal  for  a  week." 

"God  be  praised!  I  know  where  there  is  a  goat,  not 
two  leagues  away!"  said  the  colonel. 

"But  I  don't  want  a  goat,"  Norine  complained.  "I 
want — well,  pickles,  and  jam,  and  sardines,  and — candy, 
and — tooth-powder!  Real  boarding-school  luxuries.  I'd 
just  like  to  rob  a  general  store." 

Lopez  furrowed  his  brows  and  lost  himself  in  thought. 
Later,  while  the  others  were  talking,  he  drew  Ramos  aside 
and  for  a  while  they  kept  their  heads  together;  then  they 
invited  Judson  to  join  their  council. 

It  was  not  until  perhaps  an  hour  later  that  O'Reilly 

221 


RAINBOW'S    END 

had  a  chance  for  a  confidential  talk  with  Norine,  for  in 
the  mean  time  other  officers  came  to  pay  their  respects. 
But  when  the  last  one  had  reluctantly  departed  he  said: 

"I've  been  talking  to  Joe  about  you,  and  I  don't  think 
it's  right  for  you  to  be  running  around  alone  this  way." 

"You  know  how  mad  that  sort  of  talk  makes  me,"  she 
warned  him. 

"Yes.  Just  the  same,  I'll  never  feel  easy  until  you're 
safe  home  again.  And  I  '11  never  stop  bothering  you  until — ' ' 

"  In  the  first  place,  I'm  not  alone.  I  take  a  woman  with 
me  everywhere,  a  Mrs.  Ruiz." 

"Bah!    She's  no  more  of  a  chaperon  than  I  am." 

Norine  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation.  "Is  this  a 
time  to  consider  such  things?" 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  the  nature  of  your  work  is  unconven 
tional  and  excuses  a  good  deal,  but  you  don't  understand 
the  Latin  mind  as  I  do.  These  Cubans  have  different 
standards  than  ours.  They're  very  apt  to  think — " 

"I  don't  care  what  they  think,"  the  girl  declared,  "so 
long  as  I  think  I'm  doing  right.  That's  final." 

There  was  a  brief  pause.  Then  O'Reilly  admitted: 
"I'm  not  seriously  concerned  over  that  part  of  it,  either, 
for  you  are  the  best  judge  of  what  is  right  and  proper. 
What  does  concern  me,  however,  is  the  effect  all  this  may 
have  upon  you,  yourself.  You're  impractical,  romantic" 
— Norine  laughed  shortly,  but  he  went  on,  stubbornly — 
"and  just  the  sort  of  girl  to  be  carried  away  by  some 
extravagant  impulse." 

"  What  makes  you  think  I'm  impractical  and  romantic?" 

"You  wouldn't  be  here,  otherwise." 

"Very  well.  What  are  you  trying  to  get  at ?  What  do 
you  mean  by  'some  extravagant  impulse'?" 

"I'm  afraid" — O'Reilly  hesitated,  then  voiced  a  fear 
which  had  troubled  him  more  than  he  cared  to  acknowl 
edge — "I'm  afraid  of  some  silly  entanglement,  some  love 
affair—" 

222 


SPEAKING   OF    FOOD 

Norine's  laughter  rang  out,  spontaneous,  unaffected. 
It  served  to  relieve  the  momentary  tension  which  had 
sprung  up  between  them. 

"All  these  men  are  attracted  to  you,  as  it  is  quite 
natural  they  should  be,"  O'Reilly  hurried  on.  "I'm 
worried  to  death  for  fear  you'll  forget  that  you're  too 
blamed  good  for  any  of  them." 

"What  a  conscientious  duenna  you  are!"  she  told  him, 
"but  rest  easy;  I'm  thoroughly  homesick,  and  ready  to 
flunk  it  all  at  the  first  good  excuse.  I'll  make  you  a 
promise,  Johnnie.  If  I  decide  to  fall  in  love  with  any 
of  these  ragged  heroes  I'll  choose  you.  Most  of  them 
think  there  is  something  between  us,  anyhow." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  how  I  manage  to  resist  you," 
O'Reilly  told  her,  "for  I  think  you're  perfectly  splendid. 
Probably  that's  why  I'd  hate  to  see  you  married  to  some 
one-legged  veteran  of  this  amateur  war." 

"Women  don't  marry  legs,"  she  told  him,  lightly. 
Then,  more  seriously,  she  asked,  "What  are  you  doing 
about  Rosa?" 

"I'm  waiting  to  hear  from  Matanzas  Province.  When 
I  joined  the  army  I  had  to  go  where  I  was  sent,  of  course, 
but  General  Gomez  has  started  inquiries,  and  as  soon  as 
I  learn  something  definite  I  shall  follow  it  up.  I  shall  go 
where  the  trail  leads." 

"You  still  have  hope?" 

He  nodded.     "I  refuse  to  let  myself  doubt." 

When  O'Reilly  joined  Judson  for  supper  the  latter  met 
him  with  a  broad  grin  on  his  face.  "Well,"  said  he,  "it 
seems  you  started  something  with  your  game  of  'Vittles.' 
You  can  get  ready  to  saddle  up  when  the  moon  rises." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  colonel  took  Miss  Evans  at  her  word.  We're 
going  to  raid  San  Antonio  de  los  Bafios — two  hundred  of 
us — to  get  her  some  pickles,  and  jam,  and  candy,  and 
tooth-powder." 

223 


XIX 

THAT   SICK  MAN  FROM   SAN  ANTONIO 

/CERTAIN  histories  of  the  Cuban  War  for  Independ- 
v_>  ence  speak  of  "The  Battle  of  San  Antonio  de  los 
Banos."  They  relate  how  one  thousand  patriots  cap 
tured  the  village  after  a  gallant  and  sanguinary  resistance 
by  its  Spanish  garrison;  how  they  released  the  prisoners 
in  the  local  jail,  replenished  their  own  supplies,  and  then 
retired  in  the  face  of  enemy  reinforcements.  It  is  quite 
a  stirring  story  to  read  and  it  has  but  one  fault,  a  fault, 
by  the  way,  not  uncommon  in  histories — it  is  mainly 
untrue. 

In  the  first  place,  the  engagement  was  in  no  sense  a 
battle,  but  merely  a  raid.  The  number  of  troops  engaged 
was,  perhaps,  one-fifth  of  the  generous  total  ascribed  by 
the  historians,  and  as  a  military  manceuver  it  served  no 
purpose  whatsoever.  That  the  Cubans  delivered  a  spir 
ited  attack  there  is  no  denying.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
engagement  was  characterized  by  an  abandon,  by  a  lack 
of  caution,  truly  sensational,  the  reason  being  that  the 
Insurrectos  were  half  starved  and  stormed  the  town  much 
as  hungry  hoboes  attack  a  lunch-counter.  Nevertheless, 
since  the  affair  had  a  direct  bearing  upon  the  fortunes  of 
several  people  connected  with  this  story,  it  is,  perhaps, 
worth  relating. 

The  Baths  of  St.  Anthony  consisted  of  a  sulphur  spring 
which  for  many  years  had  been  held  in  high  regard  by 
gouty  and  rheumatic  Camagueyans;  around  this  spring  a 

224 


SICK    MAN    FROM    SAN   A-NTONIO 

village  had  arisen  which  boasted  rather  better  shops  than 
the  ordinary  country  town.  It  was  this  fact  which  had 
induced  the  gallant  and  obliging  Colonel  Lopez  to  attack 
it,  for,  as  he  explained  to  his  American  friends,  if  any 
place  outside  of  Habana  was  likely  to  contain  pickles, 
jam,  sardines,  candy,  tooth-powder,  and  such  other 
delicacies  as  appeared  necessary  to  the  contentment  of  a 
visiting  American  lady,  San  Antonio  de  los  Banos  was  the 
one.  Colonel  Lopez  did  not  believe  in  half  measures: 
once  he  had  determined  to  prove  his  devotion  to  Norine 
Evans,  he  would  have  sacrificed  himself  and  the  flower 
of  his  command;  he  would  have  wasted  his  last  precious 
three-pound  shell  in  breaching  the  walls  of  San  Antonio 
de  los  Banos  rather  than  fail.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
village  had  no  walls  and  it  was  defended  only  by  a  couple 
of  blockhouses.  Therefore  the  colonel  left  his  artillery 
behind. 

Perhaps  its  name  was  the  most  impressive  thing  about 
San  Antonio  de  los  Banos.  Its  streets  were  narrow  and 
steep  and  stony,  and  its  flinty  little  plaza  was  flanked  by 
stores  of  the  customary  sort,  the  fronts  of  which  were 
open  so  that  mounted  customers  from  the  country  might 
ride  in  to  make  their  purchases.  Crowning  two  command 
ing  eminences  just  outside  the  village  limits  were  the 
loopholed  farinas,  where  for  months  past  the  Spanish 
garrison  had  been  dozing. 

Lopez  and  his  troop  approached  the  town  in  the  early 
morning.  As  they  deployed  for  the  attack  the  colonel 
issued  private  instructions  to  certain  members  of  his 
command. 

"  O'Reilly,  you  and  Sefior  Branch  will  enter  one  grocery- 
store  after  another.  You  will  purchase  that  jam,  those 
sardines,  and  whatever  else  you  think  Miss  Evans  would 
like.  Captain  Judson,  you  and  Major  Ramos  will  go  to 
the  apothecary-shop — I  understand  there  is  a  very  good 
one — and  look  for  tooth-powder  and  candy  and  the  like. 

225 


RAINBOW'S    END 

I  shall  see  that  the  streets  are  cleared,  then  I  shall  en 
deavor  to  discover  some  pickles;  but  as  God  is  my 
judge,  I  doubt  if  there  is  such  a  thing  this  side  of  Habana." 

Leslie  Branch,  whose  temper  had  not  improved  with  the 
long  night  ride,  inquired,  caustically:  "Do  you  expect  us 
to  buy  the  groceries?  Well,  I'm  broke,  and  so  is  O'Reilly." 

"Have  you  no  money?"  asked  the  colonel,  vastly  sur 
prised. 

"I  haven't  tipped  my  hat  to  a  dollar  since  I  quit  news 
paper  work.  What's  more,  I  want  to  do  a  little  shopping 
for  myself." 

O'Reilly  agreed:  "If  you  don't  give  us  some  change, 
Colonel,  we'll  have  to  open  a  charge  account  in  your 
name." 

"Carmaba!"  muttered  Lopez.  "I  intended  to  borrow 
from  you  gentlemen.  Well,  never  mind — we'll  com 
mandeer  what  we  wish  in  the  name  of  the  Republic." 

Lopez's  attack  proved  a  complete  surprise,  both  to  the 
citizens  and  to  the  garrison  of  the  town.  The  rebel  bugle 
gave  the  first  warning  of  what  was  afoot,  and  before  the 
Castilian  troops  who  were  loitering  off  duty  could  regain 
their  quarters,  before  the  citizens  could  take  cover  or  the 
shopkeepers  close  and  bar  their  heavy  wooden  shutters, 
two  hundred  ragged  horsemen  were  yelling  down  the 
streets. 

There  followed  a  typical  Cuban  engagement — ten  shouts 
to  one  shot.  There  was  a  mad  charge  on  the  heels  of  the 
scurrying  populace,  a  scattering  pop-pop  of  rifles,  cheers, 
cries,  shrieks  of  defiance  and  far-flung  insults  directed  at 
the  fortinas. 

Bugles  blew  on  the  hilltops;  the  defenders  armed  them 
selves  and  began  to  fire  into  the  village.  But  since  the 
Insurrectos  were  now  well  sheltered  by  the  houses  and 
only  a  portion  of  certain  streets  could  be  raked  from  the 
forts,  the  Spanish  bullets  did  no  harm.  Obedient  to 
orders,  a  number  of  Lopez's  men  dismounted  and  took 

226 


SICK   MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

positions  whence  they  could  guard  against  a  sally,  thus 
leaving  the  rest  of  the  command  free  to  raid  the  stores. 
In  the  outskirts  of  the  •  town  Mausers  spoke,  the  dust 
leaped,  and  leaden  messengers  whined  through  the  air. 

As  locusts  settle  upon  a  standing  crop,  so  did  the  army 
of  liberators  descend  upon  the  shops  of  San  Antonio  de  los 
Baiios.  It  was  great  fun,  great  excitement,  while  it 
lasted,  for  the  town  was  distracted  and  its  citizens  had 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  resist.  Some  of  the  shop 
keepers,  indeed,  to  prove  their  loyalty,  openly  welcomed 
the  invaders.  Others,  however,  lacking  time  to  close  up, 
fled  incontinently,  leaving  their  goods  unguarded. 

O'Reilly,  with  Branch  and  Jacket  close  at  his  heels, 
whirled  his  horse  into  the  first  bodega  he  came  to.  The 
store  was  stocked  with  general  merchandise,  but  its  owner, 
evidently  a  Spaniard,  did  not  tarry  to  set  a  price  upon 
any  of  it.  As  the  three  horsemen  came  clattering  in  at  the 
front  he  went  flying  out  at  the  rear,  and,  although  O'Reilly 
called  reassuringly  after  him,  his  only  answer  was  the 
slamming  of  a  back  door,  followed  by  swiftly  diminishing 
cries  of  fright.  Plainly,  that  rush  of  ragged  men,  those 
shots,  those  ferocious  shouts  from  the  plaza,  were  too 
much  for  the  peaceful  shopkeeper  and  his  family,  and 
they  had  taken  refuge  in  some  neighbor's  garden. 

There  was  no  time  to  waste.  Johnnie  dismounted  and, 
walking  to  the  shelves  where  some  imported  canned 
goods  were  displayed,  he  began  to  select  those  delicacies 
for  which  he  had  been  sent.  The  devoted  Jacket  was  at 
his  side.  The  little  Cuban  exercised  no  restraint;  he 
seized  whatever  was  most  handy,  meanwhile  cursing 
ferociously,  as  befitted  a  bloodthirsty  bandit.  Boys  are 
natural  robbers,  and  at  this  opportunity  for  loot  Jacket's 
soul  flamed  savagely  and  he  swept  the  shelves  bare  as  he 
went. 

"Hey,  Leslie!  Get  something  to  carry  this  stuff  in," 
O'Reilly  directed  over  his  shoulder.  Receiving  only  a 

227 


RAINBOW'S    END 

muttered  reply,  he  turned  to  find  that  his  fellow-country 
man  had  cut  down  a  string  of  perhaps  two  dozen  large 
straw  sombreros  and  was  attempting  to  select  one  that 
fitted  his  head. 

' '  Oh,  look !' '  Branch  murmured.  ' '  Forty  dollars'  worth 
of  lids,  but — all  too  small.  They  must  have  been  made 
on  the  head  of  a  cane." 

"Take  the  whole  string,  but  get  us  something  to  wrap 
up  this  grub  in.  Hurry!" 

Spurred  by  O'Reilly's  tone  and  by  a  lively  rattle  of 
rifle-shots  outside,  Leslie  disappeared  into  the  living- 
quarters  at  the  back  of  the  store.  A  moment  later  he 
emerged  with  a  huge  armful  of  bedclothes,  evidently 
snatched  at  random.  Trailing  behind  him,  like  a  bridal 
veil,  was  a  mosquito-net,  which  in  his  haste  he  had  torn 
from  its  fastenings. 

"I  guess  this  is  poor!"  he  exulted.  "Bedding!  Pil 
lows!  Mosquito-net!  I'll  sleep  comfortable  after  this." 

From  somewhere  came  the  faint  smothered  wailing  of  a 
baby — eloquent  testimony  of  the  precipitate  haste  with 
which  the  terrified  storekeeper  and  his  wife  had  fled. 
Dumping  his  burden  of  sheets,  blankets,  and  brilliantly 
colored  cotton  quilts  upon  the  floor,  Branch  selected  two 
of  the  stoutest  and  began  to  knot  the  corners  together. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  when  Judson  reined  in  at  the 
door  and  called  to  O'Reilly :  ' '  We've  cleaned  out  the  drug 
store.  Better  get  a  move  on  you,  for  we  may  have  to 
run  any  minute.  I've  just  heard  about  some  Cuban 
prisoners  in  the  calaboose.  Gimme  a  hand  and  we'll  let 
'em  out." 

"Sure!"  O'Reilly  quickly  remounted,  meanwhile  di 
recting  Jacket  to  load  the  canned  goods  upon  his  horse  and 
ride  for  the  open  country.  He  looked  back  a  few  mo 
ments  later,  to  see  his  asistente  emerge  from  the  bodega 
perched  between  two  queer-looking  improvised  saddle 
bags  bulging  with  plunder.  The  pony  was  overloaded, 

228 


SICK   MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

but  in  obedience  to  the  frantic  urgings  of  its  barelegged 
rider  it  managed  to  break  into  a  shambling  trot.  Branch 
reappeared,  too,  looping  the  eight-foot  string  of  straw 
hats  to  his  saddle-horn,  and  balancing  before  him  the 
remainder  of  the  bedding,  done  up  in  a  gaudy  quilt. 

Sharing  in  the  general  consternation  at  the  attack,  the 
jail  guards  had  disappeared,  leaving  Lopez's  men  free  to 
break  into  the  prison.  When  O'Reilly  joined  them  the 
work  was  well  under  way.  The  municipal  building  of 
San  Antonio  was  a  thick-walled  structure  with  iron-barred 
windows  and  stout  doors;  but  the  latter  soon  gave  way, 
and  the  attackers  poured  in.  Seizing  whatever  imple 
ments  they  could  find,  Judson  and  O'Reilly  went  from  cell 
to  cell,  battering,  prying,  smashing,  leaving  their  comrades 
to  rescue  the  inmates.  This  jail  was  a  poor  affair.  It 
could  scarcely  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  a  prison; 
nevertheless,  true  prison  conditions  prevailed  in  it  and  it 
was  evidently  conducted  in  typically  Spanish  fashion. 
The  corridors  were  dark  and  odorous,  the  cells  unspeak 
ably  foul;  O'Reilly  and  Judson  saw,  heard,  smelled  enough 
to  convince  them  that  no  matter  how  guilty  the  prisoners 
might  be  they  had  been  amply  punished  for  their  crimes. 

This,  too,  was  swift  work.  The  building  echoed  to 
rushing,  yelling  men,  while  outside  a  fitful  accompaniment 
of  gun-shots  urged  the  rescuers  to  greater  haste.  While 
the  Americans  smashed  lock  after  lock,  their  comrades 
dragged  the  astonished  inmates  from  their  kennels, 
hustled  them  into  the  street,  and  took  them  up  behind 
their  saddles. 

The  raid  was  over, ' '  retreat ' '  was  sounding,  when  Judson 
and  O'Reilly  ran  out  of  the  prison,  remounted,  and  joined 
their  comrades,  who  were  streaming  back  toward  the  plaza. 

"Whew!"  Judson  wiped  the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes. 
"No  chance  to  ask  these  fellows  what  they  were  in  for." 

"No  need  to  ask  them,"  said  Johnnie.  "A  month  in 
there  would  be  too  much  for  a  murderer.". 

229 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"The  druggist  said  most  of  'em  are  just  patriots,  and 
every  holiday  the  Spaniards  shoot  one  or  two.  There's 
no  cock-fighting,  so  it's  the  only  Sunday  amusement  they 
have.  Did  you  notice  that  sick  guy?" 

"Yes." 

"He  looked  to  me  like  he  was  plain  starved.  Our  fel 
lows  had  to  carry  him." 

Colonel  Lopez  galloped  up  to  inquire,  anxiously,  "Did 
you  find  those  eatables,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir,  and  a  lot  more." 

"Good!  But  I  failed.  Pickles?  Caramba!  Nobody 
here  ever  heard  of  one!" 

"  Did  we  lose  any  men?"  Judson  asked. 

"Not  one.     But  Ramos  was  badly  cut." 

"So?  Then  he  got  to  close  quarters  with  some  Span 
iard?" 

"  Oh  no !"  The  colonel  grinned.  ' '  He  was  in  too  great 
a  hurry  and  broke  open  a  show-case  with  his  fist." 

The  retreating  Cubans  still  maintained  their  uproar, 
discharging  their  rifles  into  the  air,  shrieking  defiance  at 
their  invisible  foes,  and  voicing  insulting  invitations  to 
combat.  This  ferocity,  however,  served  .only  to  terrify 
further  the  civil  population  and  to  close  the  shutters  of 
San  Antonio  the  tighter.  Meanwhile,  the  loyal  troops 
remained  safely  in  their  blockhouses,  pouring  a  steady 
fire  into  the  town.  And  despite  this  admirable  display 
of  courage  the  visitors  showed  a  deep  respect  for  their 
enemies'  markmanship,  taking  advantage  of  whatever 
shelter  there  was. 

Leslie  Branch,  of  course,  proved  the  solitary  exception; 
as  usual,  he  exposed  himself  recklessly  and  rode  the  middle 
of  the  streets,  regardless  of  those  sudden  explosions  of 
dust  beneath  his  horse's  feet  or  those  unexpected  showers 
of  plaster  from  above. 

He  had  spent  his  time  assiduously  ransacking  the  de 
serted  shops,  and  in  addition  to  his  huge  bundle  of  bedding 

230 


SICK   MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

and  his  long  string  of  straw  hats  he  now  possessed  a  mis 
cellaneous  assortment  of  plunder,  in  which  were  a  bolt 
of  calico,  a  pair  of  shoes,  a  collection  of  cooking-utensils, 
an  umbrella,  and — strangest  of  all — a  large  gilt-framed 
mirror.  The  safety  of  these  articles  seemed  to  concern 
him  far  more  than  his  own.  Spying  O'Reilly,  he  shouted: 

"Say!  What's  the  Spanish  word  for  'clothing-store'? 
I  need  a  new  suit." 

"Don't  be  an  idiot!"  Johnnie  yelled  at  him.  "Keep 
under  cover." 

But  Branch  only  shook  his  head.  "They  couldn't  hit 
anything,"  he  cried. 

The  next  instant,  as  if  to  punctuate  his  remark,  a  spent 
bullet  smashed  the  mirror  and  sprinkled  the  speaker  with 
particles  of  glass.  It  was  only  by  a  miracle  that  he 
escaped  injury.  Branch  reined  in  his  horse,  examined  the 
wreck,  then  with  a  petulant  exclamation  cast  the  useless 
frame  away. 

"Come  on,  Johnnie,"  Judson  growled.  "The  damn 
fool  wants  to  get  shot." 

The  sick  man's  bravado  roused  in  O'Reilly  a  feeling  of 
mingled  resentment  and  apprehension,  but  further  warn 
ing  would  obviously  be  a  waste  of  breath.  Nevertheless, 
being  a  little  too  tender-hearted  to  follow  Judson's  non 
chalant  example  and  ride  on,  O'Reilly  held  in  his  horse, 
meanwhile  keeping  an  anxious  eye  upon  his  friend. 

The  latter  was  in  no  hurry;  he  jogged  along  leisurely, 
evidently  on  the  lookout  for  an  opportunity  to  replenish 
his  wardrobe.  Truth  to  say,  this  needed  replenishing — 
Leslie  resembled  a  scarecrow  clad  in  a  suit  of  soiled 
pajamas.  But  by  this  time  most  of  the  shops  had  their 
shutters  up.  When  the  last  one  had  been  left  behind 
O'Reilly  spurred  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  relieved  to  know 
that  the  worst  was  over. 

The  raiders  had  approached  San  Antonio  de  los  Banos 
across  the  fields  at  the  rear,  but  Colonel  Lopez  led  their 

231 


RAINBOW'S    END 

retreat  by  way  of  the  camino  real  which  followed  the  river- 
bank.  This  road  for  a  short  distance  was  exposed  to  the 
fire  from  one  fort ;  then  it  was  sheltered  by  a  bit  of  rising 
ground. 

O'Reilly,  among  the  last  to  cross  the  zone  of  fire,  was 
just  congratulating  himself  upon  the  fortunate  outcome  of 
the  skirmish  when  he  saw  Colonel  Lopez  ride  to  the  crest 
of  a  knoll,  rise  in  his  stirrups  and,  lifting  his  cupped  hands 
to  his  lips,  direct  a  loud  shout  back  toward  the  town. 
Lopez  was  followed  by  several  of  his  men,  who  likewise 
began  to  yell  and  to  wave  their  arms  excitedly. 

Johnnie  turned  to  discover  that  Leslie  Branch  had 
lagged  far  behind,  and  now,  as  if  to  cap  his  fantastic 
performances,  had  dismounted  and  was  descending  the 
river-bank  to  a  place  where  a  large  washing  had  been 
spread  upon  the  stones  to  dry.  He  was  quite  exposed, 
and  a  spiteful  crackle  from  the  nearest  blockhouse 
showed  that  the  Spaniards  were  determined  to  bring  him 
down.  Mauser  bullets  ricocheted  among  the  rocks — even 
from  this  distance  their  sharp  explosions  were  audible — 
others  broke  the  surface  of  the  stream  into  little  geysers, 
as  if  a  school  of  fish  were  leaping. 

While  Johnnie  looked  on  in  breathless  apprehension 
Branch  appropriated  several  suits  that  promised  to  fit 
him;  then  he  climbed  up  the  bank,  remounted  his  horse, 
and  ambled  slowly  out  of  range. 

Now  this  was  precisely  the  sort  of  harebrained  exploit 
which  delights  a  Cuban  audience.  When  Leslie  rejoined 
his  comrades,  therefore,  he  was  greeted  with  shouts  and 
cheers. 

"  Caramba!  He  would  risk  his  life  for  a  clean  shirt.  .  .  . 
There's  a  fellow  for  you!  He  enjoys  the  hum  of  these 
Spanish  bees!  .  .  .  Bravo!  Tell  us  what  the  bullets  said 
to  you,"  they  cried,  crowding  around  him  in  an  admiring 
circle. 

O'Reilly,  unable  to  contain  himself,  burst  forth  in  a 

232 


SICK    MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

rage:  "You  infernal  fool!  Do  you  want  to  be  shot  rob 
bing  a  clothes-line?" 

"Rats!"  ejaculated  Leslie,  sourly.  "I  told  you  I  had 
to  .have  some  clothes." 

"Lopez  ought  to  court-martial  you.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  that  junk,  now  that  you  have  it?  You 
can't  take  it  with  you  on  the  march." 

"You  wait  and  see,"  said  the  other.  "I'm  going  to  be 
comfortable,  if — "  He  paused,  with  a  peculiar,  startled 
expression  on  his  face.  "Did  you  hear  anything?"  he 
queried  after  a  moment. 

"No.    What?" 

"Oh,  nothing."  The  two  men  rode  on  in  silence  for  a 
time,  then  Leslie  said:  "  Queer  thing  happened  back  there 
while  those  Romeos  were  popping  at  me.  I  heard  a  baby 
crying." 

"A  baby?" 

"Sure.  I  suppose  it  was  the  washerwoman's  kid. 
When  we  flushed  her  she  probably  vamped  out  and  left 
it  in  the  grass.  Anyhow,  it  let  up  an  awful  holler." 

Jacket  and  the  other  loot-laden  soldiers  had  been  sent 
on  ahead,  together  with  those  troopers  who  were  sharing 
mounts  with  the  rescued  prisoners;  they  were  now  waiting 
perhaps  two  miles  from  town  for  their  companions  to 
overtake  them.  As  the  column  came  up  and  halted, 
O'Reilly  addressed  a  remark  to  Leslie  Branch,  but  in  the 
middle  of  it  the  faint,  unmistakable  complaint  of  a  child 
came  to  his  ears. 

"Listen!"  he  exclaimed.     "What  on  earth — " 

"I've  been  hearing  it  right  along,"  Branch  said.  "I — 
I  thought  I  had  the  willies." 

The  nearest  riders  abruptly  ceased  their  chatter;  they 
questioned  one  another  mutely,  doubting  their  own  ears. 

Again  came  that  thin,  muffled  wail,  whereupon  O'Reilly 
cried  in  astonishment: 

"Leslie!  Why,  it — it's  in  your  bundle!"  He  pointed 
16  233 


RAINBOW'S    END 

to  the  formless  roll  of  bedding  which  hung  from  his 
friend's  saddle-horn. 

"G'wan!  You're  crazy!"  Branch  slipped  to  the 
ground,  seized  the  bundle  in  his  arms,  and  bore  it  to  the 
roadside.  With  shaking  hands  he  tugged  at  the  knotted 
corners  of  the  comforter.  "Pure  imagination!"  he  mut 
tered,  testily.  "There's  nothing  in  here  but  bedclothes. 
I  just  grabbed  an  armful — "  The  last  word  ended  in  a 
yell.  Leslie  sprang  into  the  air  as  if  his  exploring  fingers 
had  encountered  a  coiled  serpent.  "Oh,  my  God!"  He 
poised  as  if  upon  the  point  of  flight.  "Johnnie!  Look! 
It's  alive!" 

"What's  alive?    What  is  it?" 

With  a  sudden  desperate  courage  Branch  bent  forward 
and  spread  out  the  bedding.  There,  exposed  to  the 
bulging  eyes  of  the  onlookers,  was  a  very  tiny,  very 
brown  baby.  It  was  a  young  baby;  it  was  quite  naked. 
Its  eyes,  exposed  to  the  sudden  glare  of  the  morning  sun, 
closed  tightly;  one  small  hand  all  but  lost  itself  in  the 
wide,  toothless  cavity  that  served  as  a  mouth.  Its  ten 
ridiculous  toes  curled  and  uncurled  in  a  most  amazing 
fashion. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Branch  repeated,  aghast.  "It's  just 
b-born!  Its  eyes  aren't  open." 

The  Cubans,  who  had  momentarily  been  stricken  dumb 
with  amazement,  suddenly  broke  into  voluble  speech. 
The  clamor  served  to  attract  Colonel  Lopez,  who  was 
riding  past. 

"What's  the  matter  here?"  he  demanded,  forcing  his 
horse  through  theringwhich  had  formed  about  El  Demonio 
and  his  bundle.  One  startled  look  and  the  colonel  flung 
himself  out  of  his  saddle.  "Whose  baby  is  that?"  he 
demanded. 

"I — I —  Why,  it's  mine.  I  mean,  I — "  Branch's  eyes 
were  glued  upon  the  child  in  horrified  fascination.  He 
choked  and  stammered  and  waved  his  hands  impotently. 

234 


BRANCH'S  EYES  WERE  GLUED  UPON  THE  CHILD  IN  HORRIFIED  FASCINATION 


SICK   MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

"Come,  cornel  Speak  up!  What  does  this  mean?" 
Lopez's  voice  grew  stern. 

"She  must  have  be-been  asleep.  I  just  grabbed — 
You  know.  I — "  Branch's  face  became  suddenly 
stricken.  "Look  out!"  he  shouted,  hoarsely.  "She's 
goingtfo  cry,  or.  something." 

He  was  right;  the  baby  showed  every  sign  of  a  firm  de 
termination  to  voice  her  indignation  at  the  outrage  she 
had  suffered.  Her  hand  stole  out  of  her  mouth,  her 
fists  closed,  her  face  puckered  ominously.  Lopez  stooped, 
wrapped  her  in  a  sheet,  then  took  her  awkwardly  in  his 
arms.  He  bent  a  blazing  glance  upon  the  kidnapper,  but 
he  had  no  chance  to  speak  before  the  storm  of  wailings 
broke. 

News  of  Leslie's  exploit  was  spreading.  Men  were 
shouting  and  gesticulating  to  their  comrades  to  come  and 
see  El  Demonio's  spoils.  There  was  a  great  chattering 
and  crowding  and  no  little  smothered  laughter.  Mean 
while,  Colonel  Lopez  was  using  every  desperate  device  to 
soothe  the  infant,  but  without  success.  At  last  he  strode 
up  to  Leslie  and  extended  his  burden. 

"Here,"  he  said,  harshly,  "she's  yours.  I  surrender 
her." 

Leslie  drew  back.  "No,  you  don't!  I  wouldn't  touch 
her  for  a  thousand  dollars!"  he  cried. 

But  Lopez  was  firm.  He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  command: 
"  Do  as  I  tell  you.  Take  her.  A  fine  outrage,  to  steal  a 
baby!  What  are  we  going  to  do  with  her?  We  can't 
send  her  back — the  town  is  crazy.  I've  no  doubt_I  shall 
hear  from  this." 

In  spite  of  Leslie's  choking  protests,  in  spite  of  his 
feeble  resistance,  Lopez  pressed  the  noisy  stranger  into 
his  arms,  then  turned  to  his  men  and  directed  them  to  be 
off. 

Branch  remained  motionless.  He  was  stupefied;  he 
held  the  baby  gingerly,  not  daring  to  put  it  down,  dread- 

235 


RAINBOW'S    END 

ing  to  keep  it;  his  eyes  were  rolling,  he  began  to  perspire 
freely.  Stretching  a  timid,  detaining  hand  toward  Lopez, 
he  inquired,  huskily,  "What  shall  I  do  with  her?" 

"God  knows.  I  don't,"  snapped  the  officer.  "I  shall 
have  to  think,  but  meanwhile  I  hold  you  responsible  for 
her.  Come  now,  we  must  be  going." 

Leslie  swallowed  hard ;  his  face  became  overspread  with 
a  sicklier  pallor.  "What  '11 1  do — when  she  gets  hungry?" 

Lopez  could  not  restrain  a  smile.  '  You  should  have 
thought  about  that,  compadre.  Well,  I  know  where  there 
is  a  milk  cow  not  three  leagues  from  here.  I'll  send  a  man 
to  borrow  it  from  the  owner  and  drive  it  to  our  camp. 
Or  perhaps" — his  handsome  face  hardened  again — "per 
haps  you  would  prefer  to  take  this  child  back  where  you 
found  it?" 

"No —    I —    Oh,  they'd  tear  me  limb  from  limb!" 

"Exactly." 

Branch  turned  his  head  from  side  to  side  in  desperation. 
He  wet  his  lips.  "It's  the  youngest  one  I  ever  had  any 
thing  to  do  with.  Maybe  it  isn't  used  to  cow's  milk," 
he  ventured. 

"Unfortunately  that  is  the  only  kind  I  can  offer  it. 
Take  care  of  it  until  I  find  some  way  of  notifying  its 
people." 

O'Reilly  had  looked  on  at  his  friend's  embarrassment 
with  malicious  enjoyment,  but,  realizing  that  Branch 
would  undoubtedly  try  to  foist  upon  him  the  responsi 
bility  of  caring  for  the  baby,  he  slipped  away  and  rode  over 
to  where  Captain  Judson  was  engaged  in  making  a  litter 
upon  which  to  carry  the  sick  prisoner  they  had  rescued 
from  the  jail.  When  he  had  apprised  the  artilleryman  of 
what  Branch  had  found  in  his  roll  of  purloined  bedding 
the  latter  smiled  broadly. 

"Serves  him  right,"  Judson  chuckled.  "We'll  make 
him  sit  up  nights  with  it.  Maybe  it  '11  improve  his 
disposition."  More  seriously  he  explained:  "This  chap 

236 


SICK   MAN    FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

here  is  all  in.  I'm  afraid  we  aren't  going  to  get  him 
through." 

Following  Judson's  glance,  O'Reilly  beheld  an  emaciated 
figure  lying  in  the  shade  of  a  near-by  guava-bush.  The 
man  was  clad  in  filthy  rags,  his  face  was  dirty  and  over 
grown  with  a  month's  beard;  a  pair  of  restless  eyes  stared 
unblinkingly  at  the  brazen  sky.  His  lips  were  moving; 
from  them  issued  a  steady  patter  of  words,  but  otherwise 
he  showed  no  sign  of  life. 

"You  said  he  was  starving."  Johnnie  dismounted  and 
lent  Judson  a  hand  with  his  task. 

"That's  what  I  thought  at  first,  but  he's  sick.  I  sup 
pose  it's  that  damned  dungeon  fever." 

"Then  we'd  better  look  after  him  ourselves.  These 
Cubans  are  mighty  careless,  you  know.  We  can  swing 
him  between  our  horses,  and — " 

Judson  looked  up  to  discover  that  Johnnie  was  poised 
rigidly,  his  mouth  open,  his  hands  halted  in  midair. 
The  sick  man's  voice  had  risen,  and  O'Reilly,  with  a 
peculiar  expression  of  amazement  upon  his  face,  was 
straining  his  ears  to  hear  what  he  said. 

"Eh?    What's  the  matter?"  Judson  inquired. 

For  a  moment  O'Reilly  remained  frozen  in  his  attitude, 
then  without  a  word  he  strode  to  the  sufferer.  He  bent 
forward,  staring  into  the  vacant,  upturned  face.  A  cry 
burst  from  his  throat,  a  cry  that  was  like  a  sob,  and, 
kneeling,  he  gathered  the  frail,  filthy  figure  into  his  arms. 

"Esttban!"  he  cried.  "Esteban!  This  is  O'Reilly. 
O'Rail-ye!  Don't  you  know  me?  O'Reilly,  your  friend, 
your  brother !  For  God's  sake,  tell  me  what  they've  done 
to  you!  Look  at  me,  Est6ban!  Look  at  me!  Look  at  me! 
Oh,  Esttban!" 

Such  eagerness,  such  thankfulness,  such  passionate  pity 
were  in  his  friend's  hoarse  voice  that  Judson  drew  closer. 
He  noticed  that  the  faintest  flame  of  reason  flickered  for 
an  instant  in  the  sick  man's  hollow  eyes;  then  they  began 

237 


RAINBOW'S   END 

to  rove  again,  and  the  same  rustling  whisper  recom 
menced.  Judson  had  heard  something  of  O'Reilly's  story ; 
he  had  heard  mention  of  Este'ban  and  Rosa  Varona; 
he  stood,  therefore,  in  silent  wonderment,  listening  to  the 
incoherent  words  that  poured  from  his  friend's  lips. 
O'Reilly  held  the  boy  tenderly  in  his  arms;  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks  as  he  implored  Este'ban  to  hear  and  to 
heed  him. 

"Try  to  hear  me!  Try!"  There  was  fierce  agony  in 
the  cry.  "Where  is  Rosa? . . .  Rosa? . . .  You're  safe  now; 
you  can  tell  me.  .  .  .  You're  safe  with  O'Reilly. ...  I  came 
back  ...  I  came  back  for  you  and  Rosa. . . .  Where  is  she? 
. . .  Is  she — dead?" 

Other  men  were  assembling  now.  The  column  was 
ready  to  move,  but  Judson  signaled  to  Colonel  Lopez 
and  made  known  the  identity  of  the  sick  stranger.  The 
colonel  came  forward  swiftly  and  laid  a  hand  upon 
O'Reilly's  shoulder,  saying: 

"  So !  You  were  right,  after  all.  Este'ban  Varona  didn't 
die.  God  must  have  sent  us  to  San  Antonio  to  deliver 
him." 

"He's  sick,  sick!"  O'Reilly  said,  huskily.  "Those 
Spaniards!  Look  what  they've  done  to  him."  His  voice 
changed.  He  cried,  fiercely:  "Well,  I'm  late  again.  I'm 
always  just  a  little  bit  too  late.  He'll  die  before  he  can 
tell  me— " 

"Wait!  Take  hold  of  yourself .  We'll  do  all  that  can 
be  done  to  save  him.  Now  come,  we  must  be  going,  or  all 
San  Antonio  will  be  upon  us." 

O'Reilly  roused.  "Put  him  in  my  arms,"  he  ordered. 
"I'll  carry  him  to  camp  myself." 

But  Lopez  shook  his  head,  saying,  gently:  "It's  a  long 
march,  and  the  litter  would  be  better  for  him.  Thank 
Heaven  we  have  an  angel  of  mercy  awaiting  us,  and  she 
will  know  how  to  make  him  well." 

When  the  troop  resumed  its  retreat  Este'ban  Varona  lay 

238 


SICK   MAN   FROM    SAN   ANTONIO 

suspended  upon  a  swinging  bed  between  O'Reilly's  and 
Judson's  horses.  Although  they  carried  him  as  care 
fully  as  they  could  throughout  that  long  hot  journey,  he 
never  ceased  his  babbling  and  never  awoke  to  his  sur 
roundings. 


XX 

EL  DEMONIO'S   CHILD 

DURING  the  next  few  days  O'Reilly  had  reason  to 
bless  the  happy  chance  which  had  brought  Norine 
Evans  to  Cuba.  During  the  return  journey  from  San 
Antonio  de  los  Banos  he  had  discovered  how  really  ill 
Est6ban  Varona  was,  how  weak  his  hold  upon  life.  The 
young  man  showed  the  marks  of  wasting  illness  and  of 
cruel  abuse;  starvation,  neglect,  and  disease  had  all  but 
done  for  him.  After  listening  to  his  ravings,  O'Reilly 
began  to  fear  that  the  poor  fellow's  mind  was  permanently 
affected.  It  was  an  appalling  possibility,  one  to  which  he 
could  not  reconcile  himself.  To  think  that  somewhere 
in  that  fevered  brain  was  perhaps  locked  the  truth  about 
Rosa's  fate,  if  not  the  secret  of  her  whereabouts,  and 
yet  to  be  unable  to  wring  an  intelligent  answer  to  a  single 
question,  was  intolerable.  The  hours  of  that  ride  were 
among  the  longest  O'Reilly  had  ever  passed. 

But  Norine  Evans  gave  him  new  heart.  She  took  com 
plete  charge  of  the  sick  man  upon  his  arrival  in  camp; 
then  in  her  brisk,  matter-of-fact  way  she  directed  O'Reilly 
to  go  and  get  some  much-needed  rest.  Est6ban  was  ill, 
-very  ill,  she  admitted;  there  was  no  competent  doctor 
near,  and  her  own  facilities  for  nursing  were  primitive 
indeed;  nevertheless,  she  expressed  confidence  that  she 
could  cure  him,  and  reminded  O'Reilly  that  nature  has 
a  blessed  way  of  building  up  a  resistance  to  environment. 
As  a  result  of  her  good  cheer  O'Reilly  managed  to  enjoy 
a  night's  sleep. 

240 


EL    DEMONIO'S    CHILD 

Leslie  Branch  was  later  than  the  others  in  arriving, 
for  the  baby  proved  to  be  a  trial  and  a  handicap.  His 
comrades  had  refused  him  any  assistance  on  the  home 
ward  journey.  They  expressed  a  deep,  hoarse  condemna 
tion  of  his  conduct,  and  pretended  to  consider  that  he  had 
sacrificed  all  claims  to  their  friendship  and  regard. 

Branch  took  this  seriously,  and  he  was  in  a  state 
bordering  upon  desperation  when  he  reached  camp.  In 
the  hope  of  unloading  his  unwelcome  burden  upon  Norine 
Evans  he  hurried  directly  to  her  tent.  But  Norine  had 
heard  the  story;  Lopez  had  warned  her;  therefore  she 
waved  him  away. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  mother  your  stolen  child,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  but  you've  got  to,"  he  declared  in  a  panic.  "You've 
just  got  to." 

"Well,  I  won't.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  a  sick  man 
in  my  tent." 

"But  look!  Listen!  This  baby  dislikes  me.  I've 
nearly  dropped  it  a  dozen  times.  I — I'm  going  to  leave 
it,  anyhow." 

But  Norine  remained  firm  in  her  refusal.  "You  sha'n't 
leave  your  foundling  at  my  door.  If  you  intend  to  steal 
babies  you  should  make  up  your  mind  to  take  care  of 
them."  She  was  itching  to  seize  the  hungry  little  mite, 
but  she  restrained  the  impulse.  "Go  ahead  and  keep  it 
amused  until  the  cow  arrives,"  she  told  him. 

"Keep  it  amused!  Amuse  a  starving  brat!"  tragically 
cried  the  man.  "In  Heaven's  name,  how?" 

"Why,  play  with  it,  cuddle  it,  give  it  your  watch — any 
thing!  But  don't  allow  it  to  cry — it  may  injure  itself." 

Branch  glared  resentfully;  then  he  changed  his  tactics 
and  began  to  plead.  "Oh,  Norine!"  he  implored.  "I — 
just  can't  do  it.  I'm  all  fagged  out  now,  and,  besides, 
I've  got  the  only  watch  in  camp  that  keeps  time.  I 
didn't  sleep  any  last  night,  and  it  '11  keep  me  awake  all 
to-night.  It's  a  nice  baby,  really.  It  needs  a  woman — " 

241 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Norine  parted  the  flaps  of  her  tent  and  pointed  inside, 
where  Este"ban  Varona  lay  upon  her  cot.  His  eyes  were 
staring;  his  lips  were  moving.  "Mrs.  Ruiz  and  I  will 
have  our  hands  full  with  that  poor  chap.  For  all  we  know, 
he  may  have  some  contagious  disease." 

Branch  was  utterly  shameless,  utterly  selfish  and  un- 
compassionate.  "I'm  sick,  too — sicker  than  he  is.  Have 
a  heart !  Remember,  I  risked  my  life  to  get  you  something 
nice  to  eat — " 

"Yes!  The  most  ridiculous  procedure  I  ever  heard  of. 
What  ever  made  you  do  such  a  crazy  thing?"  Norine 
was  honestly  indignant  now. 

"I  did  it  for  you.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  least  you 
can  do  in  return — " 

"The  least,  and  the  most,  I  can  do  is  to  try  and  save 
this  poor  man's  life,"  she  firmly  reasserted.  "Now  run 
along.  I'd  take  the  baby  if  I  could,  but  I  simply  can't." 

"  It  '11  die  on  me,"  Branch  protested. 

"Nonsense!  It's  the  healthiest  little  thing  I  ever  saw. 
Wait  until  it  has  its  supper.  You'll  see."  She  disap 
peared  into  her  tent  and  Branch  reluctantly  turned  away. 

Next  he  bore  the  infant  to  Judson  and  O'Reilly  in  turn; 
but  both  gruffly  refused  to  assume  the  least  responsibility 
for  it.  In  the  matter  of  advice  concerning  its  welfare,  how 
ever,  they  were  more  obliging.  They  were  willing  to  dis 
cuss  the  theory  of  child-rearing  with  him  as  long  as  he 
would  listen,  but  their  advice  merely  caused  him  to  glare 
balefully  and  to  curse  them.  Nor  did  he  regard  it  as  a 
mark  of  friendship  on  their  part  when  they  collected  an 
audience  that  evening  to  watch  him  milk  the  cow — a  pro 
cedure,  by  the  way,  not  devoid  of  excitement  and  hazard, 
inasmuch  as  Branch's  knowledge  of  cows  was  even  more 
theoretical  than  his  knowledge  of  babies. 

Leslie  had  begun  by  this  time  to  realize  that  there  existed 
a  general  conspiracy  against  him;  he  met  it  with  sullen 
resentment.  He  deeply  regretted  his  ignorance  of  the 

242 


EL    DEMONIO'S    CHILD 

Spanish  language,  however,  for  a  thousand  epithets  and 
insults  clamored  for  translation. 

Now  there  are  cows  which  an  amateur  can  milk,  and 
there  are  other  kinds.  This  particular  cow  was  shy,  ap 
prehensive,  peevish;  Branch's  unpractised  fumbling  ir 
ritated  her.  Being  herself  a  nomad  of  the  savannas,  she 
was  accustomed  to  firm,  masterful  men,  therefore  when 
Leslie  attempted  courteously,  apologetically,  to  separate 
her  from  her  milk  she  turned  and  hooked  him. 

El  Demonio's  audience,  who  had  been  looking  on  with 
rapt  attention,  applauded  this  show  of  spirit.  Branch 
was  unwontedly  meek.  He  acknowledged  his  total  in 
experience,  and  begged  his  friends,  almost  politely,  to  call 
for  a  substitute. 

Judson  explained,  gravely,  "These  Cubans  don't  know 
any  more  about  cows  than  you  do." 

O'Reilly  agreed,  "They're  good  bull-fighters,  but  they 
can't  milk." 

Leslie  eyed  the  speakers,  white  with  rage;  he  was 
trembling.  "You  think  you're  damned  funny,  don't 
you?  You're  having  a  jubilee  with  me.  Well,  I'm  game. 
I'll  go  through  with  it.  If  you'll  hold  her,  I'll  milk  her. 
I'll  milk  her  till  she  hollers." 

Obligingly,  O'Reilly  took  the  animal  by  the  horns  and 
Judson  laid  hold  of  her  tail. 

"Stretch  her  tight,"  Leslie  commanded.  "Don't  give 
her  an  inch  of  slack,  or  I'll  quit."  When  his  friends  had 
braced  themselves  he  moved  toward  the  cow  once  more, 
but  this  time  from  the  opposite  quarter.  Noting  the 
direction  of  his  approach,  the  onlookers  gave  vent  to  a 
low  murmur  of  expectancy.  They  drew  closer. 

Strangely  enough,  the  animal  stood  quiet  for  a  time — 
lost  in  amazement,  perhaps — and  Leslie  managed  to  cover 
the  bottom  of  his  big  tin  cup  with  milk.  But  at  last  the 
outrage  proved  too  much  for  her;  she  slowly  lifted  one 
hind  foot  and  poised  it  jerkily.  She  seemed  to  consider 

243 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  next  move  for  a  moment;  then  she  kicked  forward  and 
sent  Branch  flying. 

"Can  you  beat  that?"  O'Reilly  exclaimed  in  apparent 
wonderment.  "Why,  she  walloped  you  with  the  back  of 
her  hand." 

Judson,  too,  affected  great  amazement.  "Most  cows 
are  left-handed,"  he  declared.  "Try  her  on  the  other 
side." 

Branch  dried  the  milk  from  his  face,  then  in  a  shaking 
voice  cried:  "  Have  a  good  time  with  me.  It's  your  last 
chance." 

It  seemed  for  a  while  that  the  enterprise  was  doomed  to 
failure;  but  at  last  a  pint  or  more  of  milk  was  secured,  and 
this  Leslie  proceeded  to  dilute  with  warm  water  from  a 
near-by  camp-fire.  Even  then,  however,  his  difficulties 
were  not  over.  He  had  supposed  that  any  baby  knew 
enough  to  drink.  It  took  him  half  an  hour  to  discover  his 
mistake.  Having  long  since  given  up  the  hope  of  any 
active  assistance  from  his  audience,  he  doggedly  set  to 
work  to  fashion  a  nursing-bottle.  He  succeeded  in  due 
time,  after  making  use  of  a  flask,  the  stem  of  an  unused 
cigarette-holder,  and  a  handkerchief. 

When  he  finally  took  seat  and  began  awkwardly  coaxing 
the  fretful  child  to  drink,  the  Cubans  voiced  their  appre 
ciation  of  the  picture.  They  were  courteous,  they  did  not 
laugh;  nevertheless,  the  sight  of  their  eccentric,  irascible, 
rebellious  El  Demonio  tamely  nursing  a  child  in  the  fire 
light  filled  them  with  luxurious,  soul-satisfying  enjoyment. 

O'Reilly  was  up  at  daylight  to  offer  his  services  in  caring 
for  Este"ban  Varona,  but  Norine  declined  them. 

"His  fever  is  down  a  little  and  he  has  taken  some 
nourishment,"  she  reported.  "That  food  you  boys 
risked  your  silly  lives  for  may  come  in  handy,  after  all." 

"I  dare  say  he  won't  be  able  to  talk  to  me  to-day?" 
O'Reilly  ventured. 

"Not  to-day,  nor  for  many  days,  I'm  afraid." 

244 


EL    DEMONIO'S    CHILD 

"If  you  don't  mind,  then,  I'll  hang  around  and  listen 
to  what  he  says,"  he  told  her,  wistfully.  "  He  might  drop 
a  word  about  Rosa." 

"To  be  sure.  So  far  he's  scarcely  mentioned  her.  I 
can't  understand  much  that  he  says,  of  course,  but  Mrs. 
Ruiz  tells  me  it's  all  jumbled  and  quite  unintelligible. 
How  is  Leslie's  baby  this  morning?" 

"Oh,  it  passed  a  good  night.  It  was  awake  and  had 
ordered  breakfast  when  I  got  up.  Leslie  was  making  a 
fire  to  scald  out  its  bottle.  He  says  he  didn't  close  his 
eyes  all  night." 

"Poor  fellow!  I'm  going  to  help  him,"  Norine  de 
clared. 

"  Please  don't.  Lopez  wants  to  teach  him  a  lesson,  and 
this  is  the  best  thing  that  could  possibly  have  happened. 
We  have  told  him  that  there's  no  chance  of  returning  the 
baby,  and  he  thinks  he's  elected  to  keep  it  indefinitely. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Jacket  is  going  to  take  a  letter  to  the 
comandante  at  San  Antonio  this  morning,  advising  him 
that  the  child  is  safe,  and  asking  him  to  send  for  it  at 
once." 

"Isn't  that  risky?"  Norine  inquired.  "Won't  the 
comandante  attack  us  if  he  learns  where  we  are?" 

"Lopez  doesn't  think  so.  Those  Spaniards  are  usually 
pretty  scrupulous  on  points  of  honor.  There  was  some 
difficulty  in  getting  a  messenger,  but  Jacket  volunteered. 
He  volunteers  for  anything,  that  boy.  They  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  hurt  a  kid  like  him.  If  they  should,  why,  we 
have  the  baby,  you  see." 

Although  Norine  had  pretended  to  wash  her  hands  of 
all  responsibility  for  Branch's  little  charge,  she  was  by  no 
means  so  inhuman  as  she  appeared.  During  the  day  she 
kept  a  jealous  eye  upon  it,  and  especially  upon  its  diet. 

Fortunately  for  all  concerned,  it  was  a  good-natured 
child;  so  long  as  its  stomach  was  full  it  was  contented. 
It  slept  a  good  deal,  and  what  time  it  was  awake  it  sucked 

245 


RAINBOW'S    END 

its  fist  and  suffered  itself  to  be  variously  entertained  by 
the  men.  There  were,  of  course,  a  number  of  fellows  who 
could  see  no  humor  at  all  in  El  Demonio's  plight,  nor  any 
reason  for  adding  to  his  embarrassments.  These  came 
to  his  aid  in  numerous  ways. 

It  was  an  idle  day ;  there  was  nothing  to  do  except  play 
with  the  baby;  before  night  came  the  child  had  estab 
lished  itself  as  a  general  favorite.  Even  Branch  himself 
had  become  interested  in  it. 

"Say,  I've  learned  a  lot  about  kids  from  this  one,"  he 
confided  to  O'Reilly  at  dinner-time.  "I  always  thought 
young  babies  were  just  damp,  sour-smelling  little  animals, 
but  this  one  has  character.  She  knows  me  already,  and 
I'm  getting  so  I  can  pick  her  up  without  feeling  that  I'm 
going  to  puncture  her.  She's  full  of  dimples,  too.  Got  'em 
everywhere.  What  do  you  think  we'd  better  name  her?" 

"  She  probably  has  a  name.  Do  you  expect  to  keep  her 
permanently?" 

Branch  considered.  "I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  such 
a  thing  yesterday,  but  how  are  we  going  to  get  rid  of  her? 
That's  the  question.  We  can't  just  leave  her  with  the 
first  family  we  come  to.  These  country  people  have 
more  kids  than  they  know  what  to  do  with." 

"Thinking  about  taking  her  on  the  march  with  us?" 
O'Reilly  looked  up,  much  amused. 

"I  don't  see  why  it  couldn't  be  done.  The  men 
wouldn't  mind  and  she'd  make  a  dandy  mascot." 

O'Reilly  shook  his  head.  "This  isn't  a  baseball  team. 
What  about  the  baby's  mother?" 

"Bullets!  Fine  mother  she  was,  to  desert  her  child. 
I'll  bet  she's  glad  to  get  rid  of  it.  People  like  that  don't 
have  any  more  affection  than — cattle.  They  don't  de 
serve  to  have  children.  What's  more,  they  don't  know 
how  to  care  for  them.  I'd  like  to  raise  this  kid  according 
to  my  own  ideas."  Branch's  face  lightened  suddenly. 
"  Say !  I've  just  thought  of  a  name  for  her !" 

246 


EL    DEMONIO'S    CHILD 

"What?" 

"Bullets!" 

"Are  you  swearing  or  naming  her?" 

"Wouldn't  that  be  a  good  name?  It's  new,  and  it 
means  something.  Raid,  battle,  rain  of  bullets!  See? 
Bullets  Branch — that  doesn't  sound  bad." 

With  deliberate  malice  O'Reilly  said,  gravely:  "Of 
course,  if  you  adopt  her,  you  can  name  her  what  you 
choose — but  she's  a  mighty  brown  baby!  I  have  my 
suspicions  that — she's  a  mulatto." 

Branch  was  shocked,  indignant.  "That  child's  as 
white  as  you  are,"  he  sputtered.  Then  noting  the  twinkle 
in  O'Reilly's  eyes  he  turned  away,  muttering  angrily. 

Strangely  enough,  Leslie's  fantastic  suggestion  found 
echo  in  more  than  one  quarter,  and  many  of  his  camp- 
mates  began  to  argue  that  El  Demonio's  baby  would 
certainly  bring  the  troop  good  luck,  if  it  could  keep  her. 
Adoption  of  some  sort  was  gravely  discussed  that  evening 
around  more  than  one  camp-fire. 

After  breakfast  on  the  following  morning  the  baby  was 
bathed.  This  was  an  event,  and  it  had  been  advertised 
as  such.  An  interested  and  admiring  group  of  swarthy 
cigarette-smokers  looked  on  while  Branch  officiated, 
Norine's  offer  to  perform  the  service  less  publicly  having 
been  refused.  Leslie  was  just  drying  off  the  chubby  form 
when  he  was  unexpectedly  interrupted. 

Jacket  had  made  his  round  trip  in  safety,  but  instead  of 
bringing  a  squad  of  the  enemy's  soldiers  with  him  he  had 
brought  the  child's  parents,  which  was  a  much  more 
sensible  thing  to  do. 

The  storekeeper  and  his  wife  arrived  unheralded;  they 
gave  no  warning  of  their  coming,  and  they  exchanged  no 
amenities  with  the  ravagers  of  their  home.  Hearing  the 
shrill,  petulant  voice  of  their  beloved,  they  made  directly 
for  it,  as  eagles  swoop  from  the  sky  at  threat  to  their  nest. 

Branch  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  some  swift  approach. 

247 


RAINBOW'S    END 

He  beheld  an  entirely  strange  woman  bearing  down  upon 
him.  Her  face  was  white,  frantic,  terrible ;  her  arms  were 
outstretched;  she  gave  utterance  to  a  peculiar,  distressing 
cry.  Snatching  the  baby  from  his  lap  without  so  much 
as  "by  your  leave,"  she  clutched  it  to  a  billowing  brown 
bosom. 

Leslie  rose,  protesting,  just  in  time  to  receive  the  full 
onslaught  of  the  child's  distracted  father.  He  went  down 
in  a  swirl  of  arms  and  legs ;  he  felt  himself  kicked,  pounded, 
trampled,  beaten,  scratched,  until  his  friends  came  to  the 
rescue  and  dragged  him  to  his  feet.  He  rose  to  behold  a 
small,  fat,  disheveled  Spaniard  who  had  turned  from  as 
saulting  him  and  now  appeared  to  be  engaged  in  biting 
mouthfuls  from  such  portions  of  the  baby's  anatomy  as 
were  not  hidden  in  its  mother's  embrace. 

A  clamor  of  voices  breaking  the  Sabbath  calm  of  the 
morning  brought  Norine  Evans  running  from  her  tent. 
One  look,  and  its  cause  was  plain.  Fifty  men  were 
talking  loudly;  fifty  pairs  of  arms  were  waving.  In 
consequence  of  the  torrent  of  words  that  beat  upon  their 
ears  it  was  some  time  before  the  merchant  and  his  wife 
could  be  made  to  fully  understand  the  peculiar  circum 
stances  of  the  kidnapping,  and  that  no  harm  had 
been  intended  to  their  darling.  Slowly,  bit  by  bit,  they 
learned  the  truth,  but  even  then  the  mother  could 
not  look  upon  Leslie  Branch  without  a  menacing  di 
lation  of  the  eyes  and  a  peculiar  expression  of  re 
strained  ferocity. 

The  father  was  more  reasonable,  however;  once  he  was 
assured  of  his  daughter's  safety,  his  thankfulness  sought 
outlet.  He  began  by  embracing  every  one  within  his 
reach.  He  kissed  Norine,  he  kissed  O'Reilly,  he  kissed 
Judson,  he  made  a  rush  at  Leslie  himself;  but  the  latter, 
suspicious  of  his  intent,  fled.  Unmindful  of  the  fact  that 
these  were  the  men  who  had  relieved  him  of  a  considerable 
stock  of  goods  and  profaned  his  holy  of  holies,  he  recklessly 

248 


EL    DEMONIO'S    CHILD 

distributed  among  them  what  money  he  had  upon  his 
person  and  then  gave  away  the  remaining  contents  of  his 
pockets.  He  swore  his  undying  love  for  them  all.  Smiting 
his  breast  excitedly,  he  urged  them  as  a  personal  favor  and  a 
mark  of  his  overflowing  gratitude  to  return  to  San  Antonio 
de  los  Baiios,  make  themselves  masters  of  all  his  worldly 
possessions,  and  then  burn  his  store. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Jacket  was  proudly  advertising 
his  share  of  the  enterprise,  not  failing  to  give  himself  full 
credit. 

"By !    I  made  a  big  hit  with  that  comandante," 

he  told  his  American  friends.  "Those  people  in  San 
Antonio  say  I'm  the  bravest  boy  they  ever  seen,  and  they 
give  me  more'n  a  thousand  cigars.  When  I  rode  away  I 
saluted  the  comandante;  then  I  yelled,  'Vive  Cuba 
Libre!'  and  everybody  laughed  like  hell.  I  guess  those 
people  never  seen  nobody  like  me  before." 

That  afternoon,  when  it  came  time  for  the  merchant  and 
his  little  family  to  set  out  for  home,  a  crowd  of  regretful 
Insurrectos  assembled  to  bid  them  farewell  and  to  look 
for  the  last  time  upon  the  baby.  By  now  the  mother's 
apprehensions  had  given  way  to  pride  and  she  could  bring 
herself  to  smile  at  the  compliments  showered  upon  her 
offspring  and  to  answer  in  kind  those  which  were  aimed  at 
herself.  She  even  permitted  El  Demonio  to  kiss  the  child 
good-by.  Her  husband,  since  his  arrival  in  camp,  had 
heard  much  about  the  eccentric  American,  and  now,  after 
apologizing  abjectly  for  his  unwarranted  attack,  he  invited 
Branch  to  visit  his  store  when  this  hideous  war  was  over 
and  Cuba  was  free.  Finally,  in  spite  of  Leslie's  frantic 
struggles,  he  embraced  him  and  planted  a  moist  kiss  upon 
either  cheek. 

Amid  loud  and  repeated  good  wishes  and  a  cheer  for  the 
baby  the  visitors  rode  away. 

Lopez  linked  his  arm  within  O'Reilly's  as  they  turned 
back  into  the  palm-grove.     With  a  smile  he  said : 
17  249 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Well,  I  hope  this  has  taught  your  friend  to  steal  no 
more  babies." 

"I'm  afraid  he'll  steal  the  very  next  one  he  sees.  He 
fell  in  love  with  that  one  and  wanted  to  keep  it." 

"Oh,  he  wasn't  alone  in  that.  It's  queer  how  senti 
mental  soldiers  become.  I've  often  noticed  it.  When  I 
was  in  the  Rubi  Hills  some  of  my  fellows  adopted  a  goat. 
We  had  to  eat  it  finally,  but  those  men  wouldn't  touch  a 
piece  of  the  flesh — and  they  were  starving.  By  the  way, 
how  is  Varona  doing?" 

"About  the  same." 

Lopez  frowned.  "I  shall  have  to  send  him  to  Cubitas 
to-morrow,  for  we  must  be  under  way." 

"If  he  has  to  be  moved,  let  me  do  it.  I'd  like  to  be 
with  him  when  he  comes  out  of  his  fever,  and  learn  what 
he  knows  about  his  sister."  O'Reilly's  appeal  was  earnest. 

The  colonel  readily  yielded.  "Go,  by  all  means.  Re 
port  to  General  Gomez,  and  he  no  doubt  will  let  you  stay 
until  the  boy  can  talk.  He  may  have  news  from  Matan- 
zas  by  that  time." 

O'Reilly  pressed  his  colonel's  hand  gratefully.  "You're 
mighty  good,"  said  he.  "There's  one  thing  more.  Will 
you  look  out  for  Branch  while  I'm  gone,  and — hold  him 
down?" 

Lopez  laughed  lightly.  "Oh,  he'll  soon  get  over  his 
recklessness.  This  life  agrees  with  him.  Why,  he's  a 
different  man  already!  When  he  gets  well  and  has  some 
thing  to  live  for  he  will  want  to  live.  You'll  see." 


XXI 

TREASURE 

IT  was  a  balmy,  languid  morning  about  two  weeks  after 
O'Reilly's  return  to  the  City  among  the  Leaves.  The 
Cubitas  Mountains  were  green  and  sparkling  from  a  re 
cent  shower;  wood  fires  smoldered  in  front  of  the  bark 
huts,  sending  up  their  wavering  streamers  of  blue;  a 
pack-train  from  the  lower  country  was  unloading  fresh 
vegetables  in  the  main  street,  and  a  group  of  ragged  men 
were  disputing  over  them.  Some  children  were  playing 
baseball  near  by. 

In  a  hammock  swung  between  two  trees  Este"ban  Varona 
lay,  listening  to  the  admonitions  of  his  nurse. 

Johnnie  O'Reilly  had  just  bade  them  both  a  hearty  good 
morning  and  now  Norine  was  saying :  ' '  One  hour,  no  more. 
You  had  a  temperature  again  last  night,  and  it  came  from 
talking  too  much." 

"Oh,  I'm  better  this  morning,"  Este"ban  declared. 
"I'm  getting  so  that  I  want  to  talk.  I  was  too  tired  at 
first,  but  now — " 

"Now,  you  will  do  exactly  as  you  are  told.  Remember, 
it  takes  me  just  one  hour  to  make  my  rounds,  and  if  you 
are  not  through  with  your  tales  of  blood  and  battle  when  I 
get  back  you'll  have  to  finish  them  to-morrow."  With  a 
nod  and  a  smile  she  left. 

As  Este"ban  looked  after  her  his  white  teeth  gleamed  and 
his  hollow  face  lit  up. 

"She  brings  me  new  life,"  he  told  O'Reilly.  "She  is  so 
strong,  so  healthy,  so  full  of  life  herself.  She  is  wonderful  f 
When  I  first  saw  her  bending  over  me  I  thought  I  was 

251 


RAINBOW'S    END 

dreaming.     Sometimes,  even  yet,  I  think  she  cannot  be 
real.     But  she  is,  eh?" 

"She  is  quite  substantial,"  O'Reilly  smiled. 

"I  can  tell  when  she  is  anywhere  near,  for  my  illness 
leaves  me.  It's  a  fact !  And  her  hands —  Well,  she  lays 
them  on  my  head,  and  it  no  longer  hurts;  the  fever  dis 
appears.  There  is  some  cool,  delicious  magic  in  her 
touch.;  it  makes  a  fellow  want  to  live.  You  have  per 
haps  noticed  it?" 

"  N-no !  You  see,  she  never  lays  her  hands  on  my  head. 
However,  I  dare  say  you're  right.  All  the  sick  fellows 
talk  as  you  do." 

Este"ban  looked  up  quickly ;  his  face  darkened.  "  She — 
er — nurses  others,  eh?  I'm  not  the  only  one?" 

"Well,  hardly." 

There  was  a  brief  pause;  then  Este*ban  shifted  his  posi 
tion  and  his  tone  changed.  "Tell  me,  have  you  heard 
any  news?" 

"Not  yet,  but  we  will  hear  some  before  long  Tm  sure." 

"Your  faith  does  as  much  for  me  as  this  lady's  care. 
But  when  you  go  away,  when  I'm  alone,  when  I  begin  to 
think—" 

"Don't  think  too  much;  don't  permit  yourself  to 
doubt,"  O'Reilly  said,  quickly.  "Take  my  word  for  it, 
Rosa  is  alive  and  we'll  find  her  somewhere,  somehow. 
You  heard  that  she  had  fallen  into  Cobo's  hands  when  he 
sacked  the  Yumuri,  but  now  we  know  that  she  and  the 
negroes  were  living  in  the  Pan  de  Matanzas  long  after  that. 
In  the  same  way  Lopez  assured  me  positively  that  you 
were  dead.  Well,  look  at  you !  It  shows  how  little  faith 
we  can  put  in  any  story.  No,  Rosa  is  safe,  and  General 
Gomez  will  soon  have  word  of  her.  That's  what  I've 
been  waiting  for — that  and  what  you  might  have  to  tell 
me." 

"  You  know  all  that  I  know  now  and  everything  that  has 
happened  to  me." 

252 


TREASURE 

"I  don't  know  how  you  came  to  be  in  a  cell  in  San 
Antonio  de  los  Bafios,  two  hundred  miles  from  the  place 
you  were  killed.  That  is  still  a  mystery. ' ' 

"It  is  very  simple,  amigo.  Let  me  see:  I  had  finished 
telling  you  about  the  fight  at  La  Joya.  I  was  telling  you 
how  I  fainted." 

"Exactly.  Norine  bound  and  gagged  you  at  that  point 
in  the  story." 

"Some  good  people  found  me  a  few  hours  after  I  lost 
consciousness.  They  supposed  I  had  been  attacked  by 
guerrillas  and  left  for  dead.  Finding  that  I  still  had  life 
in  me,  they  took  me  home  with  them.  They  were  old 
friends  from  Matanzas  by  the  name  of  Valdes — cultured 
people  who  had  fled  the  city  and  were  hiding  in  the 
manigua  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"Not  Valdes,  the  notary?" 

"The  very  same.  Alberto  Valdes  and  his  four  daugh 
ters.  Heaven  guided  them  to  me.  Alberto  was  an  old 
man;  he  had  hard  work  to  provide  food  for  his  girls. 
Nevertheless,  he  refused  to  abandon  me.  The  girls  had 
become  brown  and  ragged  and  as  shy  as  deer.  They 
nursed  me  for  weeks,  for  my  wounds  became  infected. 
God!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  lay  there  sick  and  helpless 
for  years.  When  my  brain  would  clear  I  would  think 
of  Rosa,  and  then  the  fever  would  rise  again  and  I  would 
go  out  of  my  head.  Oh,  they  were  faithful,  patient 
people!  You  see,  I  had  walked  east  instead  of  west,  and 
now  I  was  miles  away  from  home,  and  the  country  between 
was  swarming  with  Spaniards  who  were  burning,  destroy 
ing,  killing.  You  wouldn't  know  Matanzas,  O'Reilly. 
It  is  a  desert. 

"I  finally  became  able  to  drag  myself  around  the  hut. 
But  I  had  no  means  of  sending  word  to  Rosa,  and  the 
uncertainty  nearly  made  me  crazy.  My  clothes  had 
rotted  from  me;  my  bones  were  just  under  the  skin.  I 
must  have  been  a  shocking  sight.  Then  one  day  there 

253 


RAINBOW'S    END 

came  a  fellow  traveling  east  with  messages  for  Gomez. 
He  was  one  of  Lopez's  men,  and  he  told  me  that  Lopez 
had  gone  to  the  Rubi  Hills  with  Maceo,  and  that  there 
were  none  of  our  men  left  in  the  province.  He  told  me 
other  things,  too.  It  was  from  him  that  I  learned — 
Este"ban  Varona's  thin  hands  clutched  the  edges  of  his 
hammock  and  he  rolled  his  head  weakly  from  side  to  side. 
"It  was  he  who  told  me  about  Rosa.  He  said  that  Cobo 
had  ravaged  the  Yumuri  and  that  my  sister — was  gone. 
Christ!" 

"There,  there!  We  know  better  now,"  O'Reilly  said, 
soothingly. 

"It  was  a  hideous  story,  a  story  of  rape,  murder.  I 
wonder  that  I  didn't  go  mad.  It  never  occurred  to  me  to 
doubt,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  fellow  was  honest 
enough;  he  really  believed  what  he  told  me.  Well,  I  was 
sorry  I  hadn't  died  that  night  in  the  sunken  road.  All 
the  hope,  all  the  desire  to  live,  went  out  of  me.  You 
see,  I  had  been  more  than  half  expecting  something  of  the 
kind.  Every  time  I  had  left  Rosa  it  had  been  with  the 
sickening  fear  that  I  might  never  see  here  again.  After 
the  man  had  finished  I  felt  the  desire  to  get  away  from  all 
I  had  known  and  loved,  to  leave  Matanzas  for  new  fields 
and  give  what  was  left  of  me  to  the  cause. 

"I  presume  Alberto  and  the  girls  were  relieved  to  get 
rid  of  me,  for  it  meant  more  food  for  them.  Anyhow, 
between  us  we  prevailed  upon  the  messenger  to  take  me 
along.  I  was  free  to  enlist,  since  I  couldn't  reach  Lopez, 
and  I  came  to  join  our  forces  in  the  Orient. 

"That  is  how  you  found  me  in  this  province.  Lopez's 
man  never  delivered  those  despatches,  for  we  were  taken 
crossing  the  trocha — at  least  I  was  taken,  for  Pablo  was 
killed.  They'd  have  made  an  end  of  me,  too,  I  dare  say, 
only  I  was  so  weak.  It  seems  a  century  since  that  night. 
My  memory  doesn't  serve  me  very  well  from  that  point, 
for  they  jailed  me,  and  I  grew  worse.  I  was  out  of  my 

254 


TREASURE 

head  a  good  deal.  I  seem  to  remember  a  stockade  some 
where  and  other  prisoners,  some  of  whom  nursed  me. 
You  say  you  found  me  in  a  cell  in  San  Antonio  de  los 
Baftos.  Well,  I  don't  know  how  I  got  there,  and  I  never 
heard  of  the  place." 

"It  will  probably  all  come  back  to  you  in  time,"  said 
O'Reilly. 

"No  doubt." 

The  two  men  fell  silent  for  a  while.  Est^ban  lay  with 
closed  eyes,  exhausted.  O'Reilly  gave  himself  up  to 
frowning  thought.  His  thoughts  were  not  pleasant;  he 
could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  believe  in  Rosa's  safety  so 
implicitly  as  he  had  led  Este*ban  to  suppose;  his  efforts 
to  cheer  the  other  had  sapped  his  own  supply  of  hope, 
leaving  him  a  prey  to  black  misgivings.  He  was  glad  when 
Norine  Evans's  return  put  an  end  to  his  speculations. 

Este*ban  was  right;  the  girl  did  have  an  unusual  ability 
to  banish  shadows,  a  splendid  power  to  rout  devils  both  of 
the  spirit  and  of  the  flesh;  she  was  a  sort  of  antibody, 
destroying  every  noxious  or  unhealthy  thing  mental  or 
physical  with  which  she  came  in  contact.  This  blessed 
capability  was  quite  distinct  from  her  skill  with  medicines 
— it  was  a  gift,  and  as  much  a  part  of  her  as  the  healing 
magic  which  dwells  in  the  sunshine. 

Certainly  her  knack  of  lending  health  and  strength  from 
her  own  abundant  store  had  never  been  better  shown  than 
in  Este*ban's  case,  for  with  almost  no  medical  assistance 
she  had  brought  him  back  from  the  very  voids.  It  was 
quite  natural,  therefore,  that  she  should  take  a  pride  in 
her  work  and  regard  him  with  a  certain  jealous  pro 
prietary  interest;  it  was  equally  natural  that  he  should 
claim  the  greater  share  of  her  attention. 

"  Have  you  harrowed  this  poor  man's  feelings  sufficiently 
for  once?"  she  inquired  of  O'Reilly. 

"I  have.  I'll  agree  to  talk  about  nothing  unpleasant 
hereafter." 

255 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Este'ban  turned  to  his  nurse,  inquiring,  abruptly,  "Do 
you  think  Rosa  is  alive?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  do!  Aren't  you  alive  and — almost 
well?" 

Now,  as  an  argument,  there  was  no  particular  force  in 
this  suggestion;  nevertheless,  both  men  felt  reassured. 
Est6ban  heaved  a  grateful  sigh.  After  a  moment  he  said, 

"There  is  something  I  want  to  tell  you  both." 

"Wait  until  to-morrow,"  Norine  advised. 

But  he  persisted:  "No!  I  must  tell  it  now.  First, 
however,  did  either  of  you  discover  an  old  coin  in  any  of 
my  pockets — an  old  Spanish  doubloon?" 

"That  doubloon  again!"  Norine  lifted  her  hands  pro- 
testingly,  and  cast  a  meaning  look  at  O'Reilly.  "You 
talked  about  nothing  else  for  a  whole  week.  Let  me  feel 
your  pulse." 

Este'ban  surrendered  his  hand  with  suspicious  readiness. 

"You  were  flat  broke  when  we  got  you,"  O'Reilly  de 
clared. 

"Probably.  I  seem  to  remember  that  somebody  stole 
it." 

"Doubloons!  Pieces  of  eight!  Golden  guineas!"  ex 
claimed  Norine.  "Why  those  are  pirate  coins!  They  re 
mind  me  of  Treasure  Island ;  of  Long  John  Silver  and  his 
wooden  leg;  of  Ben  Gunn  and  all  the  rest."  With  a 
voice  made  hoarse,  doubtless  to  imitate  the  old  nut-brown 
seaman  with  the  saber-scar  and  the  tarry  pig-tail,  who  sat 
sipping  his  rum  and  water  in  the  Admiral  Benbow  Inn, 
she  began  to  chant: 

"Fifteen  men  on  the  dead  man's  chest — 

Yo-ho-ho,  and  a  bottle  of  rum! 
Drink  and  the  Devil  had  done  for  the  rest — 
Yo-ho-ho,  and  a  bottle  of  rum!" 

Este'ban  smiled  uncomprehendingly.       "Yes?      Well, 

256 


TREASURE 

this  has  to  do  with  treasure.  That  doubloon  was  a  part 
of  the  lost  treasure  of  the  Varonas." 

' '  Lost  treasure !' '  Norine's  gray  eyes  widened.  ' '  What 
are  you  talking  about?" 

"There  is  a  mysterious  fortune  in  our  family.  My 
father  buried  it.  He  was  very  rich,  you  know,  and  he  was 
afraid  of  the  Spaniards.  O'Reilly  knows  the  story." 

Johnnie  assented  with  a  grunt.  "Sure!  I  know  all 
about  it." 

Est^ban  raised  himself  to  his  elbow.  "You  think  it's  a 
myth,  a  joke.  Well,  it's  not.  I  know  where  it  is.  I 
found  it!" 

Norine  gasped;  Johnnie  spoke  soothingly: 

"Don't  get  excited,  old  man;  you've  talked  too  much 
to-day." 

"  Ha !"  Este"ban  fell  back  upon  his  pillow.  ' '  I  haven't 
any  fever.  I'm  as  sane  as  ever  I  was.  That  treasure 
exists,  and  that  doubloon  gave  me  the  clue  to  its  where 
abouts.  Pancho  Cueto  knew  my  father,  and  he  believed 
the  story.  He  believed  in  it  so  strongly  that — well — 
that's  why  he  denounced  my  sister  and  me  as  traitors. 
He  dug  up  our  entire  premises,  but  he  didn't  find  it." 
Est^ban  chuckled.  "Don  Esteban,  my  father,  was  cun 
ning  :  he  could  hide  things  better  than  a  magpie.  It  re 
mained  for  me  to  discover  his  trick." 

Norine  Evans  spoke  breathlessly.  "Oh,  glory!  Treas 
ure!  Real  treasure!  How  perfectly  exciting!  Tell  me 
how  you  found  it,  quick!  Johnnie,  you  remember  he 
raved  about  a  doubloon — " 

"He  is  raving  now,"  O'Reilly  declared,  with  a  sharp 
stare  at  his  friend. 

The  girl- turned  loyally  to  her  patient.  "I'll  believe 
you,  Mr.  Varona.  I  always  believe  everything  about 
buried  treasure.  The  bigger  the  treasure  the  more  im 
plicitly  I  believe  in  it.  I  simply  adore  pirates  and  such 
things;  if  I  were  a  man  I'd  be  one.  Do  you  know,  I've 

257 


RAINBOW'S    END 

always  been  tempted  to  bury  my  money  and  then  go 
look  for  it." 

"You're  making  fun  ef  me.  What?"  Este"ban  eyed 
the  pair  doubtfully. 

"No,  no!"  Norine  was  indignant.  "Johnnie  doesn't 
believe  in  pirates  or  treasure,  or — anything.  He  doesn't 
even  believe  in  fairies,  and  he's  Irish,  too.  But  I  do.  I 
revel  in  such  things.  If  you  don't  go  on,  I'll  blow  up." 

"There  is  no  doubt  that  my  father  had  a  great  deal  of 
money  at  one  time,"  Este"ban  began;  "he  was  the  richest 
man  in  the  richest  city  of  Cuba  and  ..." 

O'Reilly  shook  his  head  dubiously  and  braced  his  back 
against  a  tree-trunk;  there  was  a  look  of  mild  disapproba 
tion  on  his  face  as  he  listened  to  the  familiar  story  of  Don 
Este"ban  and  the  slave,  Sebastian. 

Young  Este"ban  told  the  tale  well.  His  own  faith  in  it 
lent  a  certain  convincingness  to  his  words  and  Norine 
Evans  hung  upon  them  entranced.  She  was  horrified  at 
the  account  of  Don  Estdban's  death;  her  eyes  grew  dark  as 
Este"ban  told  of  his  and  Rosa's  childhood  with  their 
avaricious  stepmother.  That  part  of  the  narrative  which 
had  to  do  with  the  death  of  Dona  Isabel  and  the  finding 
of  the  gold  coin  was  new  to  O'Reilly  and  he  found  himself 
considerably  impressed  by  it.  When  Este"ban  had  fin 
ished,  Norine  drew  a  deep  breath. 

' '  Oh !  That  lays  over  any  story  I  ever  heard.  To  think 
that  the  deeds  and  the  jewels  and  everything  are  in  the 
well  at  this  minute!  How  could  you  go  away  and  leave 
them?" 

"I  didn't  think  it  out  at  the  time.  I  didn't  evolve  my 
theory  until  after  I  had  fled.  Naturally,  I  wasn't  able  to 
get  back." 

"But  suppose  somebody  finds  it?"  Norine  was  aghast 
at  the  thought. 

"Not  much  chance  of  that.  The  treasure  has  lain 
there  for  a  generation,  and  the  story  itself  is  almost 

258 


TREASURE 

forgotten."  Este*ban  turned  triumphantly  to  O'Reilly, 
saying,  "Now  then,  do  you  think  I'm  so  crazy?" 

O'Reilly  didn't  have  it  in  his  heart  to  say  exactly  what 
he  really  thought.  The  circumstances  of  the  discovery  of 
the  coin  were  odd  enough,  certainly,  but  it  seemed  to  him 
that  they  were  capable  of  several  explanations.  If,  indeed, 
there  had  ever  been  a  doubloon  and  if  Esteban  had  found 
it  in  the  dead  hand  of  his  stepmother,  that,  in  O'Reilly's 
opinion,  by  no  means  proved  the  existence  of  the  mythical 
Varona  hoard,  nor  did  it  solve  the  secret  of  its  whereabouts. 
What  he  more  than  half  suspected  was  that  some  favored 
fancy  had  formed  lodgment  in  Este"ban's  brain. 

"It's  an  interesting  theory,"  he  admitted.  "Anyhow, 
there  is  no  danger  of  the  treasure  being  uncovered  very 
soon.  Cueto  had  a  good  look  and  made  himself  ridiculous^ 
You'll  have  ample  chance  to  do  likewise  when  the  war  is 
over." 

"You  must  help  me  find  it,"  said  Esteban.  "We  shall 
all  share  the  fortune  equally,  you  two,  Rosa  and  I." 

"  We?    Why  should  we  share  in  it?"  Norine  asked. 

"I  owe  it  to  you.  Didn't  O'Reilly  rescue  me  from  a 
dungeon?  Haven't  you  nursed  me  back  to  health? 
Don't  I  owe  my  life  to  you  both?" 

"Nonsense!  I,  for  one,  sha'n't  take  a  dollar  of  it,"  the 
girl  declared.  "All  I  want  to  do  is  help  dig.  K  you'll 
just  promise  to  let  me  do  that — " 

"I  promise.  And  you  shall  have  one-fourth  of  every 
thing." 

"No!    No!" 

"Oh,  but  you  must.  I  insist.  Nursing  is  a  poorly  paid 
profession.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  rich?" 

"Profession!  Poorly  paid?"  Norine  sputtered,  an 
grily.  "As  if  I'd  take  pay!" 

"As  if  I  would  accept  a  great  service  and  forget  it,  like 
some  miserable  beggar!"  Esteban  replied,  stiffly. 

O'Reilly  laughed  out.  "Don't  let's  quarrel  over  the 

259 


RAINBOW'S    END 

spoil  until  we  get  it,"  said  he.  "That's  the  way  with  all 
treasure-hunters.  They  invariably  fall  out  and  go  to 
fighting.  To  avoid  bloodshed,  I'll  agree  to  sell  my  inter 
est  cheap,  for  cash.  Come!  What  will  you  bid?  Start 
it  low.  Do  I  hear  a  dollar  bid?  A  dollar!  A  dollar!  A 
dollar!  My  share  of  the  famous  Varona  fortune  going 
for  a  dollar!" 

"There!  He  doesn't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  Este*ban 
said. 

Norine  gave  an  impatient  shrug.  "Some  people 
wouldn't  believe  they  were  alive  unless  they  saw  their 
breath  on  a  looking-glass.  Goodness!  How  I  hate  a 
sneering  skeptic,  a  wet  blanket." 

O'Reilly  rose  with  one  arm  shielding  his  face.  "In  the 
interest  of  friendship,  I  withdraw.  A  curse  on  these 
buried  treasures,  anyhow.  We  shall  yet  come  to  blows." 

As  he  walked  away  he  heard  Norine  say:  "Don't  pay 
any  attention  to  him.  We'll  go  and  dig  it  up  ourselves, 
and  we  won't  wait  until  the  war  is  over." 

An  hour  later  Este"ban  and  his  nurse  still  had  their 
heads  together.  They  were  still  talking  of  golden  ingots 
and  pearls  from  the  Caribbean  the  size  of  plums  when 
they  looked  up  to  see  O'Reilly  running  toward  them. 
He  was  visibly  excited;  he  waved  and  shouted  at  them. 
He  was  panting  when  he  arrived. 

"News!  From  Matanzas!"  he  cried.  "Gomez's  man 
has  arrived." 

Este"ban  struggled  to  rise,  but  Norine  restrained  him. 
"Rosa?  What  does  he  say?  Quick!" 

"Good  news!  She  left  the  Pan  de  Matanzas  with  the 
two  negroes.  She  went  into  the  city  before  Cobo's  raid." 

Este"ban  collapsed  limply.  He  closed  his  eyes,  his  face 
was  very  white.  He  crossed  himself  weakly. 

"The  letter  is  definite.  It  seems  they  were  starving. 
They  obeyed  Weyler's  bando.  They're  in  Matanzas 
now." 

260 


TREASURE 

"Do  you  hear,  Este"ban?"  Norine  shook  her  patient 
by  the  shoulder.  "She's  alive.  Oh,  can't  you  see  that  it 
always  pays  to  believe  the  best?" 

"Alive!  Safe!"  Este"ban  whispered.  His  eyes,  when 
he  opened  them,  were  swimming;  he  clutched  Norine's 
hand  tightly;  his  other  hand  he  extended  to  O'Reilly. 
The  latter  was  choking;  his  cheeks,  too,  were  wet.  "A 
reconcentrado !  In  Matanzas!  Well,  that's  good.  We 
have  friends  there — they'll  not  let  her  starve.  This 
makes  a  new  man  of  me.  See!  I'm  strong  again.  I'll 
go  to  her." 

"You'll  go?"  quickly  cried  Miss  Evans.  "You'll  go! 
You're  not  strong  enough.  It  would  be  suicide.  You, 
with  a  price  upon  your  head!  Everybody  knows  you 
there.  Matanzas  is  virtually  a  walled  city.  There's 
sickness,  too — yellow  fever,  typhus — " 

"Exactly.  And  hunger,  also.  Suppose  no  one  has 
taken  Rosa  in?  Those  concentration  camps  aren't  nice 
places  for  a  girl." 

"But  wait!  I  have  friends  in  Washington.  They're 
influential.  They  will  cable  the  American  consul  to  look 
after  her.  Anyhow,  you  mustn't  think  of  returning  to 
Matanzas,"  Norine  faltered;  her  voice  caught  unex 
pectedly  and  she  turned  her  face  away. 

O'Reilly  nodded  shortly.  "You're  a  sick  man,"  he 
agreed.  "  There's  no  need  for  both  of  us  to  go." 

Este"ban  looked  up.     "Then  you — " 

"I  leave  at  once.  The  Old  Man  has  given  me  a  com 
mission  to  General  Betancourt,  and  I'll  be  on  my  way  in 
an  hour.  The  moon  is  young;  I  must  cross  the  trocha 
before — " 

"That  trocha!"  Este"ban  was  up  on  his  elbow  again. 
"Be  careful  there,  O'Reilly.  They  keep  a  sharp  lookout, 
and  it's  guarded  with  barbed  wire.  Be  sure  you  cut 
every  strand.  Yes,  and  muffle  your  horse's  hoofs,  too, 
in  crossing  the  railroad  track.  That's  how  we  were  de- 

261 


RAINBOW'S    END 

tected.  Pablo's  horse  struck  a  rail,  and  they  fired  at  the 
sound.  He  fell  at  the  first  volley,  riddled.  Oh,  I  know 
that  trocha!" 

"Damn  the  trocha!"  O'Reilly  exclaimed.  "At  last 
I've  got  a  chance  to  do  something.  God!  How  long 
I've  waited." 

Este"ban  drew  O'Reilly's  tense  form  down  and  em 
braced  his  friend,  after  the  fashion  of  his  people.  "She 
has  been  waiting,  too,"  he  said,  huskily.  "We  Varonas 
are  good  waiters,  O'Reilly.  Rosa  will  never  cease  waiting 
until  you  come.  Tell  her,  for  me — " 

Norine  withdrew  softly  out  of  earshot.  There  were 
a  lump  in  her  throat  and  a  pain  in  her  breast.  She 
had  acquired  a  peculiar  and  affectionate  interest  in  this 
unhappy  girl  whom  she  had  never  seen,  and  she  had 
learned  to  respect  O'Reilly's  love.  The  yearning  that 
had  pulsed  in  his  voice  a  moment  before  had  stirred  her 
deeply;  it  awoke  a  throb  in  her  own  bosom,  for  O'Reilly 
was  dear  to  her.  She  wanted  him  to  go,  yet  she  knew  the 
hazards  that  lay  in  his  way.  If,  indeed,  the  girl  were  in 
Matanzas,  how,  Norine  asked  herself,  was  it  possible  for 
him  to  reach  her?  That  O'Reilly  had  some  mad  design 
was  evident;  that  he  would  utterly  disregard  his  own 
safety  she  felt  sure.  But  that  he  would  meet  with  failure, 
perhaps  worse,  seemed  equally  certain.  Matanzas  was 
a  beleagured  city,  and  strangers  could  not  enter  or  leave 
it  at  will.  If  Rosa  had  not  put  herself  behind  prison 
walls,  if  she  were  still  in  hiding  somewhere  on  the  island, 
it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  seek  her  out.  But  Matan 
zas,  of  all  places ! 

Then,  too,  the  pacificos,  according  to  all  reports,  were 
dying  like  flies  in  the  prison  camps.  Norine  wondered  if 
there  might  not  be  a  terrible  heartache  at  the  end  of 
O'Reilly's  quest?  Her  face  was  grave  and  worried  when, 
hearing  him  speak  to  her,  she  turned  to  take  his  out 
stretched  hand. 

262 


TREASURE 

' '  You  will  be  careful,  won't  you  ?' '  she  implored.  ' '  And 
you'll  be  stout  of  heart,  no  matter  what  occurs?" 

He  nodded.  "It's  a  long  way  back  here  to  Cubitas. 
You  may  not  see  or  hear  from  me  again." 

"I  understand."  She  choked  miserably.  "You  mean 
you  may  not  come  back.  Oh,  Johnnie!" 

"Tut,  tut!  We  O'Reillys  have  more  lives  than  a  litter 
of  cats.  I  mean  I  may  not  see  you  until  the  war  is  over 
and  we  meet  in  New  York.  Well,  we've  been  good  pals, 
and — I'm  glad  you  came  to  Cuba."  His  grasp  upon  her 
two  hands  was  painful. 

"You  must  go,  I  know,  and  I  wouldn't  try  to  keep  you, 
but — "  Norine  faltered,  then  impulsively  she  drew  him 
down  and  kissed  him  full  upon  the  lips.  "For  Rosa!" 
she  whispered.  Her  eyes  were  shining  as  she  watched 
him  pass  swiftly  out  of  sight. 


XXII 

THE   TROCHA 

OF  all  the  military  measures  employed  by  the  Span 
iards  in  their  wars  against  Cuban  independence, 
perhaps  the  most  unique  was  the  trocha — trench  or  trav 
erse.  Martinez  Campos  during  the  Ten  Years'  War 
built  the  first  trocha  just  west  of  the  Cubitas  Mountains 
where  the  waist  of  the  island  is  narrowest.  It  was 
Campos's  hope,  by  means  of  this  artificial  barrier,  to  con 
fine  the  operations  of  the  insurgents  to  the  eastern  end 
of  Cuba,  but  in  that  he  failed,  as  likewise  he  failed  in  the 
results  gained  by  his  efforts  to  concentrate  the  rural 
population  in  the  cities.  Not  until  Weyler's  time  were 
these  two  methods  of  pacification,  the  trocha  and  the 
concentration  camp,  developed  to  their  fullest  extent. 
Under  the  rule  of  the  Butcher  several  trochas  were  con 
structed  at  selected  points,  and  he  carried  to  its  logical 
conclusion  the  policy  of  concentration,  with  results  suf 
ficiently  frightful  to  shock  the  world  and  to  satisfy  even 
Weyler's  monstrous  appetite  for  cruelty.  Although  his 
trochas  hindered  the  free  movement  of  Cuban  troops  and 
his  prison  camps  decimated  the  peaceful  population  of 
several  provinces,  the  Spanish  cause  gained  little.  Both 
trenches  and  prison  camps  became  Spanish  graveyards. 

Weyler's  intrenchments  cost  millions  and  were  elabo 
rately  constructed,  belted  with  barbed  wire,  bristling  with 
blockhouses  and  forts.  In  both  the  digging  and  the 
manning,  however,  they  cost  uncounted  lives.  Spanish 
spades  turned  up  fevers  with  the  soil,  and,  so  long  as  raw 
Spanish  troops  were  compelled  to  toil  in  the  steaming 

264 


THE   TROCHA 

morasses  or  to  lie  inactive  under  the  sun  and  the  rain, 
those  traitor  generals — June,  July,  and  August — con 
tinued  to  pile  up  the  bodies  in  rotting  heaps  and  to 
timber  the  trenches  with  their  bones.  So  long  as  the 
cities  were  overcrowded  with  pacificos  and  their  streets 
were  putrid  with  disease,  so  long  did  the  Spanish  garrisons 
sicken  and  die,  as  flies  perish  upon  poisoned  carrion. 

Out  on  the  cool,  clean  hills  and  the  windy  savannas 
where  the  Insurrectos  dwelt  there  was  health.  Poorly 
armed,  ragged,  gaunt,  these  Insurrectos  were  kept  moving 
by  hunger,  always  moving  like  cattle  on  a  barren  range. 
But  they  were  healthy,  for  disease,  which  is  soft-footed  and 
tender-bellied,  could  not  keep  up. 

At  the  time  Johnnie  O'Reilly  set  out  for  Matanzas  the 
war — a  war  without  battle,  without  victory,  without  de 
feat — had  settled  into  a  grim  contest  of  endurance.  In 
the  east,  where  the  Insurrectos  were  practically  supreme, 
there  was  food  of  a  sort,  but  beyond  the  Jucaro-Moron 
trocha — the  old  one  of  Campos's  building — the  country 
was  sick.  Immediately  west  of  it,  in  that  district  which 
the  Cubans  called  Las  Villas,  the  land  lay  dying,  while 
the  entire  provinces  of  Matanzas,  Habana,  and  Pinar  del 
Rio  were  practically  dead.  These  three  were  skeletons, 
picked  bare  of  flesh  by  Weyler's  beak. 

The  Jucaro-Moron  trocha  had  been  greatly  strength 
ened  since  Campos's  day.  It  followed  the  line  of  the 
transinsular  railway.  Dotted  at  every  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  the  grade  were  little  forts  connected  by  telephone 
and  telegraph  lines.  Between  these  fortinas  were  sentry 
stations  of  logs  or  railroad  ties.  The  jungle  on  either 
side  of  the  right-of-way  had  been  cleared,  and  from 
the  remaining  stumps  and  posts  and  fallen  tree-trunks 
hung  a  maze  of  barbed  wire  through  which  a  man  could 
scarcely  crawl,  even  in  daylight.  Eyes  were  keen,  rifles 
were  ready,  challenges  were  sharp,  and  countersigns  were 
quickly  given  on  the  Jucaro-Moron  trocha, 
18  265 


RAINBOW'S    END 

In  O'Reilly's  party  there  were  three  men  besides  himself 
— the  ever-faithful  Jacket,  a  wrinkled  old  Camagueyan 
who  knew  the  bridle  trails  of  his  province  as  a  fox  knows 
the  tracks  to  its  lair,  and  a  silent  guajiro  from  farther 
west,  detailed  to  accompany  the  expedition  because  of  his 
wide  acquaintance  with  the  devastated  districts.  Both 
guides,  having  crossed  the  trocha  more  than  once,  affected 
to  scorn  its  terrors,  and  their  easy  confidence  reassured 
O'Reilly  in  spite  of  Este*ban's  parting  admonition. 

The  American  had  not  dreamed  of  taking  Jacket  along, 
but  when  he  came  to  announce  his  departure  the  boy  had 
flatly  refused  to  be  left  behind.  Jacket,  in  fact,  had 
taken  the  matter  entirely  into  his  own  hands  and  had 
appealed  directly  to  General  Gomez.  To  his  general  the 
boy  had  explained  tearfully  that  patriotism  was  a  rare 
and  an  admirable  quality,  but  that  his  love  of  country 
was  not  half  so  strong  or  so  sacred  as  his  affection  for 
Johnnie  O'Reilly.  Having  attached  himself  to  the 
American  for  better  or  for  worse,  no  human  power  could 
serve  to  detach  him,  so  he  asserted.  He  threatened, 
moreover,  that  if  he  were  compelled  to  suffer  his  bene 
factor  to  go  alone  into  the  west  he  would  lay  down  his 
arms  and  permit  General  Gomez  to  free  Cuba  as  best  he 
could.  Cuba  could  go  to  Hades,  so  far  as  Jacket  was 
concerned — he  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  save  it.  Strangely 
enough,  Jacket's  threat  of  defection  had  not  appalled 
General  Gomez.  In  fact,  with  a  dyspeptic  gruffness 
characteristic  of  him  Gomez  had  ordered  the  boy  off, 
under  penalty  of  a  sound  spanking.  But  Jacket  had  a 
will  of  his  own,  likewise  a  temper.  He  greeted  this  un 
feeling  refusal  with  a  noisy  outburst  of  mingled  rage, 
grief,  and  defiance.  Stamping  his  bare  feet,  sobbing,  and 
screaming,  the  boy  finally  flung  himself  upon  the  ground 
and  smote  it  with  his  fists,  while  tears  streamed  from  his 
eyes.  Nor  could  he  be  silenced.  He  maintained  such  a 
hideous  and  surprising  uproar,  answering  Gomez's  stern 

266 


THE   TROCHA 

commands  to  be  silent  with  such  maniacal  howls,  that  the 
old  soldier  was  finally  glad  to  yield  his  consent,  incident 
ally  consigning  the  rebellious  youth  to  that  perdition  with 
which  he  had  threatened  Cuba. 

Having  won  his  point,  Jacket  regained  his  composure 
with  suspicious  suddenness  and  raced  away  to  triumph 
over  his  beloved  O'Reilly. 

Fifty  miles  of  hard  riding  brought  the  party  to  the 
trocha;  they  neared  it  on  the  second  morning  after  leaving 
Cubitas,  and  sought  a  secluded  camping-spot.  Later  in 
the  day  Hilario,  the  old  Camagueyan,  slipped  away  to 
reconnoiter.  He  returned  at  twilight,  but  volunteered  no 
report  of  what  he  had  discovered.  After  an  insistent 
cross-examination  O'Reilly  wrung  from  him  the  reluctant 
admission  that  everything  seemed  favorable  for  a  crossing 
some  time  that  night,  and  that  he  had  selected  a  promis 
ing  point.  Beyond  that  the  old  man  would  say  nothing. 
Johnnie  asked  himself  uneasily  if  this  reticence  was  not 
really  due  to  apprehension  rather  than  to  sullenness. 
Whatever  the  cause,  it  was  not  particularly  reassuring, 
and  as  evening  came  on  Johnnie  found  himself  growing 
decidedly  nervous. 

Supper,  a  simple  meal,  was  quickly  disposed  of.  Then 
followed  a  long,  dispiriting  wait,  for  a  gibbous  moon  rode 
high  in  the  sky  and  the  guides  refused  to  stir  so  long  as  it 
remained  there.  It  was  a  still  night;  in  the  jungle  no  air 
was  stirring,  and  darkness  brought  forth  a  torment  of 
mosquitoes.  As  day  died,  the  woods  awoke  to  sounds  of 
bird  and  insect  life;  strange,  raucous  calls  pealed  forth, 
some  familiar,  others  strange  and  unaccustomed.  There 
were  thin  whistlings,  hoarse  grunts  and  harsh  cacklings, 
high-pitched  elfin  laughter.  Moving  bodies  disturbed  the 
leaves  overhead;  from  all  sides  came  the  rustle  and  stir 
of  unseen  creatures;  sudden  disputations  were  followed 
by  startled  silences.  Sitting  there  in  the  dark,  bedeviled 
by  a  pest  of  insects,  mocked  at  by  these  mysterious  voices, 

267 


RAINBOW'S    END 

and  looking  forward  to  a  hazardous  enterprise,  O'Reilly  be 
gan  to  curse  his  vivid  imagination  and  to  envy  the  impas- 
siveness  of  his  companions.  Even  Jacket,  he  noted,  en 
dured  the  strain  better;  the  boy  was  cheerful,  philosoph 
ical,  quite  unimpressed  by  his  surroundings.  When  the 
mosquitoes  became  unbearable  he  put  on  his  trousers, 
with  some  reluctance  and  much  ceremony. 

It  seemed  to  O'Reilly  that  the  moon  floated  motionless 
in  the  sky,  and  more  than  once  he  was  upon  the  point  of 
ordering  a  start,  but  he  reflected  that  its  radiance  out  in 
the  open  must  be  far  greater  than  it  seemed  here  under 
the  dense  tropical  foliage.  After  a  time  he  began  to 
wonder  if  his  guides  were  as  loyal  as  they  should  be,  if 
Hilario's  strange  reticence  was  caused  by  sullenness,  by 
apprehension,  or  by  something  altogether  different.  Both 
of  the  men  were  strangers  to  him;  of  their  fidelity  he  had 
no  guarantee.  Now  that  his  mind  had  become  engaged 
with  thoughts  of  treachery,  a  determined  effort  was 
necessary  to  keep  himself  in  hand  and  O'Reilly  fell  back 
finally  upon  his  elemental  trust  in  the  Cuban  character — 
scant  consolation  under  the  circumstances. 

Midnight  brought  a  moist,  warm  breeze  and  a  few  form 
less  clouds  which  served  at  times  to  dimly  obscure  the 
moon.  Watching  the  clouds,  O'Reilly  hoped  that  they 
might  prove  to  be  the  heralds  of  a  storm.  None  came. 
When  the  moon  had  finally  crept  down  into  the  tree- 
tops  old  Hilario  stepped  upon  his  cigarette,  then  began 
silently  to  saddle  up.  The  others  followed  with  alacrity, 
and  fell  in  behind  him  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  forest. 
They  no  longer  ventured  to  speak  aloud;  nothing  but  the 
occasional  sound  of  a  hoof  striking  upon  root  or  stone,  the 
creak  of  leather,  or  the  rustle  of  branches  against  passing 
bodies  gave  evidence  that  mounted  men  were  en  route. 

When  they  had  covered  a  couple  of  miles  Hilario  reined 
in  and  the  others  crowded  close.  Ahead,  dimly  discernible 
against  the  night  sky,  there  appeared  to  be  a  thinning  of 

268 


THE   TROCHA 

the  woods.  After  listening  for  a  moment  or  two,  Hilario 
dismounted  and  slipped  away;  the  three  riders  sat  their 
saddles  with  ears  strained.  Once  more  the  myriad  voices 
of  the  night  became  audible — the  chirping  of  crickets, 
the  strident  call  of  tree-toads,  the  whining  undertone  of 
the  mosquitoes. 

Hilario  returned  with  word  that  all  was  well,  and  each 
man  dismounted  to  muffle  the  feet  of  his  horse  with  rags 
and  strips  of  gunny-sack  provided  for  the  purpose.  Then, 
one  by  one,  they  moved  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  clear 
ing.  The  trocha  lay  before  them. 

After  the  cavernous  obscurity  of  the  jungle  the  night 
seemed  suddenly  to  lighten  and  O'Reilly  found  himself 
looking  out  over  a  level  waste  of  stumps  and  tree-trunks 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  extending  right  and  left 
as  far  as  he  could  see.  Against  the  luminous  western 
horizon  opposite  the  inky  forest  stood  like  a  wall.  Mid 
way  of  the  clearing  there  was  a  railroad  grade  with  a 
telephone-pole  or  two  limned  against  the  sky.  The 
clearing  was  silent  and  to  all  appearances  deserted; 
nothing  stirred,  no  sign  of  life  appeared  anywhere. 
And  yet,  as  the  American  studied  the  place,  he  had  a 
queer,  uncomfortable  sensation  that  it  was  thickly  peopled 
and  that  eyes  were  peering  out  at  him  from  the  gloom. 
Blurred  forms  took  shape,  phantom  figures  moved  along 
the  embankment,  stumps  stirred. 

O'Reilly  felt  a  pair  of  reins  thrust  into  his  hand  and 
found  Hilario  examining  a  large  pair  of  tinner's  shears. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  go  with  you?"  he  inquired  of  the 
guide. 

The  latter  shook  his  head.  "Antonio  will  go;  he  will 
keep  watch  while  I  clear  a  path.  If  you  hear  or  see 
anything — " 

Jacket  interrupted  with  a  sibilant:  "Psst!  Look! 
Yonder!" 

A  lantern -like  illumination  had  leaped  out  of  the 

269 


RAINBOW'S    END 

blackness  and  now  approached  swiftly  down  the  railroad 
grade. 

O'Reilly  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  the  old  Camagueyan 
and  inquired  in  sharp  suspicion,  "What  does  that  mean — 
an  alarm?" 

There  was  a  breathless  moment  during  which  the  four 
men  followed  the  erratic  course  of  the  spark.  Then 
Antonio  chuckled.  "Alabaos!  A  light-bug,"  said  he. 
"Don't  you  know  a  cucullo  when  you  see  one?"  He 
cautiously  tested  the  ejector  of  his  carbine  and  tightened 
the  cord  that  served  as  his  belt. 

O'Reilly  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  He  had  never 
become  wholly  accustomed  to  the  giant  light-beetles  of  the 
tropics,  although  he  had  carried  one  often  on  sentry  duty 
to  see  the  face  of  his  watch,  and  not  infrequently  had 
seen  Cuban  women  wearing  them  in  their  hair  as  orna 
ments. 

"Jove !"  he  muttered.     " It  gave  me  a  fright." 

Hilario  resumed  his  instructions:  "If  anything  goes 
wrong,  wait  here.  Don't  ride  away  until  we  have  time — " 

"Never  fear.  I  won't  desert  you,"  the  American  re 
assured  him. 

The  two  white-clad  figures  slipped  away,  became  indis 
tinct,  and  then  disappeared.  The  night  was  hot,  the  mos 
quitoes  hummed  dismally  and  settled  in  clouds  upon  the 
waiting  pair,  maddening  them  with  their  poison.  After 
a  time  a  horse  snorted  and  Jacket  cursed  nervously. 

"I'd  like  to  see  where  we  are,"  the  boy  muttered. 

"Do  you  know  these  men?"  O'Reilly  asked  him. 

"No.    God  deliver  me  from  such  unpleasant  fellows." 

"I  hope  they're  honest." 

"Humph!  I  trust  nobody."  There  was  a  pause. 
"Never  mind,"  Jacket  assured  his  companion.  "I  will 
make  short  work  of  them  if  they  prove  to  be  traitors." 

A  half-hour  passed,  then  the  two  ghostly  figures  ma 
terialized  once  more. 

270 


THE   TROCHA 

"Dios!"  grumbled  Hilario.  "There  are  many  strings 
to  this  Spanish  guitar.  What  a  row  when  they  discover 
that  I  have  played  a  Cuban  danzon  upon  it."  The  old 
man  seemed  less  surly  than  before,  and  O'Reilly  felt 
ashamed  of  his  recent  suspicions. 

"Is  the  way  clear?"  he  inquired. 

"As  far  as  the  railroad,  yes.  We  heard  voices  there, 
and  came  back.  We  will  have  to  cut  our  way  forward 
after  we  cross  the  track.  Now  then,  follow  me  without  a 
sound." 

Leading  his  horse  by  the  bit  ring,  Hilario  moved  out  into 
the  clearing,  followed  once  more  by  his  three  companions. 
Concealment  was  out  of  the  question  now,  for  their  only 
covering  was  the  darkness.  O'Reilly  had  the  uncomfort 
able  feeling  that  the  cavalcade  bulked  monstrous  big  and 
must  be  visible  at  a  great  distance;  he  experienced  much 
the  sensations  of  a  man  crossing  a  sheet  of  thin  ice  with 
nerves  painfully  strained,  awaiting  the  first  menacing 
crack.  In  spite  of  all  precautions  the  animals  made  a 
tremendous  racket,  or  so  it  seemed,  and,  despite  Hilario's 
twistings  and  turnings,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  an 
occasional  loop  of  barbed  wire,  therefore  flesh  and  cloth 
ing  suffered  grievously.  But  at  length  the  party  brought 
up  under  the  railroad  embankment  and  paused.  Out  of 
the  voids  to  their  right  came  a  faint  murmur  of  voices. 
As  carefully  as  might  be  the  four  men  ascended  the  slope, 
crossed  the  rails,  and  descended  into  the  ditch  on  the 
other  side.  Another  moment  and  they  encountered  a 
taut  strand  of  barbed  wire.  The  metallic  snip  of  Hila 
rio's  shears  sounded  like  a  pistol-shot  to  O'Reilly.  Into 
the  maze  of  strands  they  penetrated,  yard  by  yard, 
clipping  and  carefully  laying  back  the  wire  as  they  went. 
Progress  was  slow;  they  had  to  feel  their  way;  the  sharp 
barbs  brought  blood  and  muttered  profanity  at  every  step. 

None  of  the  four  ever  knew  what  gave  the  alarm. 
Their  first  intimation  of  discovery  came  with  a  startling 

271 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Quien  vive?"  hurled  at  them  from  somewhere  at  their 
backs. 

An  instant  and  the  challenge  was  followed  by  a  Mauser 
shot.  Other  reports  rang  out  as  the  sentry  emptied  his 
rifle  in  their  direction. 

"So!    They  are  shooting-bats,"  Hilario  grunted. 

Antonio  swung  about  and  cocked  his  Remington,  but 
the  other  spoke  sharply.  "Fool!  If  you  shoot  they  will 
see  the  fire  and  riddle  us.  A  curse  on  the  spider  that  spun 
this  web!" 

It  was  a  test  of  courage  to  crouch  among  the  charred 
stumps,  enmeshed  in  that  cruel  tangle  of  wire,  while  the 
night  was  stabbed  by  daggers  of  fire  and  while  the  trocha 
awoke  to  the  wild  alarm.  From  somewhere  in  the  dis 
tance  came  a  shouted  command  and  the  sound  of  running 
feet,  suddenly  putting  an  end  to  further  inaction.  An 
tonio  began  to  hack  viciously  with  his  machete,  in  an 
effort  to  aid  Hilario's  labors.  The  so-uid  of  his  sturdy 
blows  betrayed  the  party's  whereabouts  so  clearly  that 
finally  the  older  man  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 

"Give  it  to  them,  compadres;  it  is  a  game  that  we  can 
play." 

O'Reilly  had  been  gripping  his  rifle  tensely,  his  heart 
in  his  throat,  his  pulses  pounding.  As  near  a  panic  as  he 
had  ever  been,  he  found,  oddly  enough,  that  the  mere  act 
of  throwing  his  weapon  to  his  shoulder  and  firing  it 
calmed  him.  The  kick  of  the  gun  subdued  his  excitement 
and  cleared  his  brain.  He  surprised  himself  by  directing 
Jacket  in  a  cool,  authoritative  voice,  to  shoot  low.  When 
he  had  emptied  the  magazine  he  led  two  of  the  horses  for 
ward.  Then,  grasping  his  own  machete,  he  joined  in 
clearing  a  pathway. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  time  ere  theyextricated  them 
selves  from  the  trap,  but  finally  they  succeeded  and  gained 
the  welcome  shelter  of  the  woods,  pausing  inside  its 
shelter  to  cut  the  muffles  from  their  horses'  feet.  By  this 

272 


THE   TROCHA 

time  the  defenders  of  the  trocha  were  pouring  volley  after 
volley  at  random  into  the  night. 

Hilario  sucked  the  cuts  in  his  horny  palms  and  spat 
forth  the  blood. 

"If  Gomez  had  the  ammunition  these  fools  are  wasting 
he  would  free  Cuba  in  no  time." 

Now  that  the  skirmish  was  over,  Jacket  began  to  boast 
of  his  part  in  it. 

" Ha!  Perhaps  they'll  know  better  than  to  show  them 
selves  the  next  time  I  come  this  way,"  said  he.  "You 
saw  me,  didn't  you?  Well,  I  made  a  few  Spanish  widows 
to-night." 

"Not  many,  I'm  afraid,"  O'Reilly  laughed. 

"Oh,  believe  me,  I'm  an  old  hand  at  this  sort  of  thing. 
I  shoot  just  as  well  at  night  as  I  do  in  the  daytime." 
This  was  literally  true,  and  when  no  one  disputed  his 
assertion  Jacket  proceeded  further  in  praise  of  himself, 
only  to  break  off  with  a  wordless  cry  of  dismay. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Johnnie  inquired. 

"Look!  Behold  me!"  wailed  the  hero.  "I  have  left 
the  half  of  my  beautiful  trousers  on  that  barbed  wire!" 

Antonio  swung  a  leg  over  his  saddle,  saying:  "Come 
along,  amigos;  we  have  fifty  leagues  ahead  of  us.  The 
war  will  be  over  while  we  stand  here  gossiping." 


XXIII 

INTO   THE   CITY   OF   DEATH 

O'REILLY'S  adventures  on  his  swift  ride  through  Las 
Villas  have  no  part  in  this  story.  It  is  only  neces 
sary  to  say  that  they  were  numerous  and  varied,  that 
O'Reilly  experienced  excitement  aplenty,  and  that  upon 
more  than  one  occasion  he  was  forced  to  think  and  to  act 
quickly  in  order  to  avoid  a  clash  with  some  roving  guer 
rilla  band.  He  had  found  it  imperative  at  all  times  to 
avoid  the  larger  towns,  for  they,  and  in  fact  most  of  the 
hamlets,  were  unsafe;  hence  the  little  party  was  forced 
to  follow  back  roads  and  obscure  bridle  trails.  But  the 
two  guides  were  never  at  a  loss;  -they  were  resourceful, 
courageous,  and  at  no  time  did  the  American  have  reason 
to  doubt  their  faithfulness. 

Evidences  of  the  war  increased  as  the  journey  length 
ened.  The  potreros  were  lush  with  grass,  but  no  herds 
grazed  upon  them;  villages  were  deserted  and  guano  huts 
were  falling  into  decay,  charred  fields  growing  up  to  weeds 
and  the  ruins  of  vast  centrales  showing  where  the  Insur- 
rectos  had  been  at  work.  This  was  the  sugar  country, 
the  heart  of  Cuba,  whence  Spain  had  long  drawn  her  life 
blood,  and  from  the  first  it  had"  been  the  policy  of  the 
rebel  leaders  to  destroy  the  large  estates,  leaving  un 
damaged  only  the  holdings  of  those  little  farmers  whose 
loyalty  to  the  cause  of  freedom  was  unquestioned. 

Food  became  a  problem  immediately  after  the  travelers 
had  crossed  the  trocha.  Such  apprehensive  families  as 
still  lurked  in  the  woods  were  liberal  enough — Antonio,  by 

274 


INTO   THE   CITY   OF    DEATH 

the  way,  knew  all  of  them — but  they  had  little  to  give  and, 
in  consequence,  O'Reilly's  party  learned  the  taste  of  wild 
fruits,  berries,  and  palmetto  hearts.  Once  they  managed 
to  kill  a  small  pig,  the  sole  survivor  of  some  obscure 
country  tragedy,  but  the  rest  of  the  time  their  meat,  when 
there  was  any,  consisted  of  iguanas — those  big,  repulsive 
lizards — and  jutias,  the  Cuban  field-rats. 

Neither  the  lizards  nor  the  rats  were  quite  as  bad  as 
they  looked  or  sounded;  the  meat  of  the  former  was 
tender  and  white,  while  the  latter,  although  strong,  was 
not  unpalatable.  To  hungry  men  both  were  muy 
sabrosa,  as  Jacket  put  it.  This  was  not  the  boy's  first 
experience  with  such  a  diet;  having  campaigned  before 
in  the  west,  he  was  accustomed  to  the  taste  of  juita,  and 
he  told  O'Reilly  how  his  troop  had  once  lived  so  long 
upon  these  rats  that  it  became  impossible  to  surprise  a 
Spanish  enemy,  except  by  approaching  up  the  wind,  as  a 
hunter  stalks  his  game.  Jacket  gravely  assured  his  friend 
that  the  Spaniards  could  smell  him  and  his  brother 
patriots  from  a  distance  of  five  kilometers — a  statement, 
by  the  way,  which  the  American  by  this  time  was  ready 
to  believe. 

Fortunately  there  was  no  shortage  of  food  for  the  horses, 
and  so,  despite  the  necessity  of  numerous  detours,  the 
party  made  good  time.  They  crossed  into  Matanzas, 
pushed  on  over  rolling  hills,  through  sweeping  savannas, 
past  empty  clearings  and  deserted  villages,  to  their  jour 
ney's  end.  A  fortunate  encounter  with  a  rebel  partida 
from  General  Betancourt's  army  enabled  them  to  reach 
headquarters  without  loss  of  time,  and  one  afternoon, 
worn,  ragged  and  hungry,  they  dismounted  in  front  of 
that  gallant  officer's  hut. 

General  Betancourt  read  the  letter  which  O'Reilly 
handed  him,  then  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"So!  You  are  one  of  Gomez's  Americans,  eh?  Well, 
I  would  never  have  known  it,  to  look  at  you;  the  sun  and 

275 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  wind  have  made  you  into  a  very  good  Cuban.  And 
your  clothes —  One  might  almost  mistake  you  for  a 
Cuban  cabinet  officer." 

O'Reilly  joined  in  the  laughter  evoked  by  this  remark. 
He  was  quite  as  tattered  as  the  poorest  of  Betancourt's 
common  soldiers;  his  shoes  were  broken  and  disreputable; 
his  cotton  trousers,  snagged  by  barbed  wire  and  brambles, 
and  soiled  by  days  in  the  saddle  and  nights  in  the  grass, 
were  in  desperate  need  of  attention.  His  beard  had 
grown,  too,  and  his  skin,  where  it  was  exposed,  was 
burnt  to  a  mahogany  brown.  Certainly  there  was 
nothing  about  his  appearance  to  bespeak  his  nation 
ality. 

The  general  continued:  "I  am  directed  in  this  letter  to 
help  you  in  some  enterprise.  Command  me,  sir." 

As  briefly  as  possible  Johnnie  made  known  the  object 
of  his  journey.  The  officer  nodded  his  comprehension, 
but  as  he  did  so  a  puzzled  expression  crossed  his  face. 

"Yes,  I  reported  that  Miss  Varona  had  gone  into  the 
city — I  took  some  pains  to  find  out.  Do  you  have  reason 
to  doubt—" 

"Not  the  least,  sir." 

"Then — why  have  you  come  all  this  way?" 

"I  came  to  find  her  and  to  fetch  her  to  her  brother." 

"But — you  don't  understand.  She  is  actually  inside 
the  lines,  in  Matanzas — a  prisoner." 

"  Exactly.  I  intend  to  go  into  Matanzas  and  bring  her 
out." 

General  Betancourt  drew  back,  astonished.  "  My  dear 
man!"  he  exclaimed.  "Are  you  mad?" 

O'Reilly  smiled  faintly.  "Quite  probably.  All  lovers 
are  mildly  mad,  I  believe." 

"Ah!  Lovers!  I  begin  to  see.  But — how  do  you 
mean  to  go  about  this — this — impossible  undertaking?" 

"You  told  me  just  now  that  I  could  pass  for  a  Cuban. 
Well,  I  am  going  to  put  it  to  the  test.  If  I  once  get  into 

276 


INTO   THE   CITY   OF    DEATH 

the  city  I  shall  manage  somehow  to  get  out  again,  and 
bring  her  with  me." 

"Um-m!"  The  general  appraised  O'Reilly  specula- 
tively.  No  doubt  you  can  get  in — it  is  not  so  difficult  to 
enter,  I  believe,  and  especially  to  one  who  speaks  the 
language  like  a  native.  But  the  return — I  fear  you  will 
find  that  another  matter.  Matanzas  is  a  place  of  pesti 
lence,  hunger,  despair.  No  one  goes  there  from  choice 
any  more,  and  no  one  ever  comes  out." 

"So  I  should  imagine."  The  speaker's  careless  tone 
added  to  General  Betancourt's  astonishment.  "Bless 
me!"  he  exclaimed.  "What-  an  extraordinary  young 
man!  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  comprehend  the 
terrible  conditions?"  A  sudden  thought  struck  him  and 
he  inquired,  quickly:  "Tell  me,  you  are  not  by  any 
chance  that  hero  they  call  El  Demonic?  I  have  heard 
that  he  is  indeed  a  demon.  No?  Very  well!  You  say 
you  wish  to  visit  Matanzas,  and  I  am  instructed  to  help 
you.  How  can  I  do  so?" 

O'Reilly  hesitated  an  instant.  "For  one  thing,  I  need 
money.  I — I  haven't  a  single  peseta." 

"You  are  welcome  to  the  few  dollars  I  possess." 

Johnnie  expressed  his  gratitude  for  this  ready  assist 
ance.  "One  thing  more,"  said  he.  "Will  you  give  my 
boy,  Jacket,  a  new  pair  of  trousers  and  send  him  back  to 
the  Orient  at  the  first  opportunity?" 

"Of  course.  It  is  done."  The  general  laid  a  friendly 
hand  upon  O'Reilly's  shoulder,  saying,  gravely:  "It 
would  relieve  me  intensely  to  send  you  back  with  him, 
for  I  have  fears  for  the  success  of  your  venture.  Matan 
zas  is  a  hell;  it  has  swallowed  up  thousands  of  our  good 
countrymen;  thousands  have  died  there.  I'm  afraid  you 
do  not  realize  what  risks  you  are  taking." 

O'Reilly  did  not  allow  this  well-meant  warning  to  in 
fluence  him,  nor  did  he  listen  to  the  admonitions  of  those 
other  Cubans  who  tried  to  argue  him  out  of  his  purpose, 

277 


RAINBOW'S   END 

once  it  became  generally  known.  On  the  contrary,  he 
proceeded  with  his  preparations  and  spent  that  afternoon 
in  satisfying  himself  that  Rosa  had  indeed  left  the  Pan 
de  Matanzas  before  Cobo's  raid. 

Among  Betancourt's  troops  was  a  man  who  had  been 
living  in  the  hills  at  the  time  Asensio  and  his  family  had 
abandoned  their  struggle  for  existence,  and  to  him 
O'Reilly  went.  This  fellow,  it  seemed,  had  remained 
with  his  family  in  the  mountains  some  time  after  Asensio's 
departure.  It  was  from  him  that  O'Reilly  heard  his  first 
authentic  report  of  the  atrocities  perpetrated  by  Cobo's 
Volunteers.  This  man  had  lost  his  wife,  his  little  son,  and 
all  the  scanty  belongings  he  possessed.  With  shaking 
hands  upstretched  to  heaven,  the  fellow  cursed  the 
author  of  his  misfortunes. 

"I  live  for  one  thing!"  he  cried,  shrilly.  "To  meet  that 
monster,  and  to  butcher  him,  as  he  butchers  women  and 
children." 

O'Reilly  purposely  left  his  most  unpleasant  task  to  the 
last.  When  his  arrangements  had  been  completed  and 
he  had  acquainted  himself  as  far  as  possible  with  the 
hazards  he  was  likely  to  encounter,  he  took  Jacket  aside 
and  broke  the  news  to  him  that  on  the  following  morning 
they  must  part.  As  he  had  expected,  the  boy  refused  to 
listen  to  him.  O'Reilly  remained  firm  and  Jacket  adopted 
those  tactics  which  had  proved  so  potent  with  General 
Gomez.  He  began  to  weep  copiously.  He  worked  him 
self  up  to  a  hysterical  crescendo  which  threatened  to 
arouse  the  entire  encampment.  But  O'Reilly  was  un 
moved. 

"Be  quiet,"  he  told  the  boy.  " I  won't  let  you  go  with 
me,  and  that  ends  it." 

"You  dassent  leave  me,"  sobbed  the  youngster.  " I  got 
no  friend  but  you." 

"It  will  be  hard  enough  for  one  man  to  slip  through; 
two  would  be  sure  to  fail." 

278 


INTO   THE    CITY   OF    DEATH 

"Those  Spaniards  will  skill  you!"  Jacket  wailed. 

"  So  much  the  more  reason  for  you  to  stay  here." 

At  this  the  boy  uttered  a  louder  cry.  He  stamped  his 
bare  feet  in  a  frenzy  of  disappointment.  "You  dassent 
leave  me — you  dassent!" 

"Listen,  people  are  starving  in  Matanzas;  they  are 
sick;  they  are  dying  in  the  streets." 

"I  don't  eat  much." 

When  Johnnie  shook  his  head  stubbornly  Jacket 
launched  himself  into  a  torrent  of  profanity  the  violence 
of  which  dried  his  tears.  His  vocabulary  was  surprising. 
He  reviled  the  Spaniards,  O'Reilly,  himself,  everybody 
and  everything;  he  leveled  anathemas  at  that  woman  who 
had  come  between  him  and  his  beloved  benefactor.  The 
latter  listened  good-naturedly. 

"You're  a  tough  kid,"  he  laughed,  when  Jacket's  first 
rage  had  worn  itself  out.  "I  like  you,  and  I'd  take  you 
if  I  could.  But  this  isn't  an  enterprise  for  a  boy,  and  it 
won't  get  you  anything  to  keep  up  this  racket." 

Jacket  next  tried  the  power  of  argument.  He  at 
tempted  to  prove  that  in  a  hazardous  undertaking  of  this 
sort  his  assistance  would  be  invaluable.  He  was,  so  he 
declared,  the  one  person  in  all  Cuba  in  every  respect 
qualified  to  share  O'Reilly's  perils.  To  begin  with,  he 
was  not  afraid  of  Spaniards,  or  anything  else,  for  that 
matter — he  dismissed  the  subject  of  personal  courage 
with  a  contemptuous  shrug.  As  for  cunning,  sagacity, 
prudence,  resource,  all-around  worth,  he  was,  without 
doubt,  unequaled  in  any  country.  He  was  a  veritable 
Spartan,  too,  when  it  came  to  hardship — privation  and 
suffering  were  almost  to  his  liking.  He  was  discreet — 
discretion  was  something  he  had  inherited;  he  was  a 
diplomat — diplomacy  being  one  of  his  most  unique  ac 
complishments.  As  for  this  talk  about  hunger,  O'Reilly 
need  not  concern  himself  in  the  least  on  that  score,  for 
Jacket  was  a  small  eater  and  could  grow  fat  on  a  diet  of 

279 


RAINBOW'S    END 

dead  leaves.  Disease?  Bah!  It  made  him  laugh.  His 
experience  with  sickness  was  wider  than  most  fisicos, 
and  he  was  a  better  nurse  than  Miss  Evans  would  ever  be. 
Jacket  did  not  wish  to  appear  in  the  least  boastful. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  actually  too  modest,  as  his  friends 
could  attest,  but  truth  compelled  him  to  admit  that 
he  was  just  the  man  for  O'Reilly.  He  found  it  impossible 
to  recommend  himself  too  highly;  to  save  his  soul,  he 
could  think  of  no  qualification  in  which  he  was  lacking 
and  could  see  no  reason  why  his  benefactor  would  not 
greatly  profit  by  the  free  use  of  his  amazing  talents. 
The  enterprise  was  difficult ;  it  would  certainly  fail  with 
out  him. 

Johnnie  remained  carefully  attentive  during  this  ad 
juration.  He  felt  no  desire  even  to  smile,  for  the  boy's 
earnestness  was  touching  and  it  caused  the  elder  man's 
throat  to  tighten  uncomfortably.  Johnnie  had  not 
realized  before  how  fond  he  had  become  of  this  quaint 
youngster.  And  so,  when  the  little  fellow  paused  hope 
fully,  O'Reilly  put  an  arm  around  him. 

"I'm  sure  you  are  everything  you  say  you  are,  Jacket, 
and  more,  too,  but  you  can't  go!" 

With  that  Jacket  flung  off  the  embrace  and,  stalking 
away,  seated  himself.  He  took  a  half -smoked  cigar  from 
the  pocket  of  his  shirt  and  lit  it,  scowling  the  while  at  his 
friend.  More  than  once  during  the  evening  O'Reilly 
detected  his  sullen,  angry  eyes  upon  him. 

General  Betancourt  and  several  members  of  his  staff 
were  up  early  the  following  morning  to  bid  their  visitor 
good-by.  In  spite  of  their  efforts  to  make  the  parting 
cheerful  it  was  plain  that  they  had  little  hope  of  ever  again 
seeing  this  foolhardy  American. 

Johnnie's  spirits  were  not  in  the  least  affected  by  this 
ill-concealed  pessimism,  for,  as  he  told  himself,  he  had 
money  in  his  pockets  and  Matanzas  was  not  many  miles 
away.  But  when  he  came  to  part  from  Jacket  he  experi- 

280 


INTO   THE    CITY   OF    DEATH 

enced  a  genuine  disappointment.  The  boy,  strangely 
enough,  was  almost  indifferent  to  his  leaving;  he  merely 
extended  a  limp  and  dirty  hand,  and  replied  to  O'Reilly's 
parting  words  with  a  careless  "Adios!" 

In  hurt  surprise  the  former  inquired,  "Don't  we  part 
good  friends?" 

"Sure!"  Jacket  shrugged,  then  turned  away. 

Jacket  was  a  likable  youngster;  his  devotion  was 
thoroughly  unselfish;  it  had  not  been  easy  to  wound  him. 
With  keener  regrets  than  he  cared  to  acknowledge  O'Reilly 
set  out  upon  his  journey,  following  the  guide  whom 
General  Betancourt  had  provided. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  sufficiently  warm  to  promise  a 
hot  midday;  the  air  was  moist  and  fresh  from  a  recent 
shower.  This  being  the  rainy  season,  the  trails  were  soft, 
and  where  the  rich  red  Cuban  soil  was  exposed  the 
travelers  sank  into  it  as  into  wet  putty. 

Crossing  a  rocky  ridge,  O'Reilly  and  his  guide  at  last 
emerged  upon  an  open  slope,  knee-high  in  grass  and  grown 
up  to  bottle-palms,  those  queer,  distorted  trees  whose 
trunks  are  swollen  into  the  likeness  of  earthen  water-jars. 
Scattered  here  and  there  over  the  meadows  were  the  dead 
or  fallen  trunks  of  another  variety,  the  cabbage-palm,  the 
green  heart  of  which  had  long  formed  a  staple  article  of 
diet  for  the  Insurrectos.  Spanish  axes  had  been  at  work 
here  and  not  a  single  tree  remained  alive.  The  green 
floor  of  the  valley  farther  down  was  dotted  with  the 
other,  the  royal  kind,  that  monarch  of  tropic  vegetation 
which  lends  to  the  Cuban  landscape  its  peculiar  and  dis 
tinctive  beauty. 

"Yonder  is  the  camino,"  said  the  countryman,  pointing 
into  the  valley;  "it  will  lead  you  to  the  main  road;  and 
there" — he  turned  to  the  northward — "is  Matanzas. 
Go  with  God,  and  don't  drink  the  well  water,  which  is 
polluted  from  the  rains."  With  a  smile  and  a  wave  of  the 
hand  the  man  turned  back  and  plunged  into  the  jungle. 
19  281 


RAINBOW'S    END 

As  O'Reilly  descended  the  slope  he  realized  keenly  that 
he  was  alone  and  in  hostile  territory.  The  hills  and  the 
woods  from  Pinar  del  Rio  to  Oriente  were  Cuban,  or,  at 
most,  they  were  disputed  ground.  But  here  in  the  plains 
and  valleys  near  the  cities  Spain  was  supreme.  From  this 
moment  on  O'Reilly  knew  he  must  rely  entirely  upon 
himself.  The  success  of  his  enterprise — his  very  life — 
hinged  upon  his  caution,  his  powers  of  dissimulation,  his 
ability  to  pass  as  a  harmless,  helpless  -pacifico.  It  gave 
him  an  unaccustomed  thrill,  by  no  means  pleasant. 

The  road,  when  he  came  to  it,  proved  to  be  a  deep  gutter 
winding  between  red-clay  banks  cut  by  the  high  wheels 
of  clumsy  cane-carts.  Inasmuch  as  no  crops  whatever 
had  been  moved  over  the  road  during  the  past  season,  it 
was  now  little  more  than  an  oozy,  sticky  rut.  Not  a  roof, 
not  a  chimney,  was  in  sight;  the  valley  was  deserted. 
Here  was  a  fertile  farming  country — and  yet  no  living 
thing,  no  sound  of  bells,  no  voices,  no  crowing  cocks,  no 
lowing  cattle.  It  was  depressing  to  O'Reilly,  and  more,  for 
there  was  something  menacing  and  threatening  about  it  all. 

Toward  noon  the  breeze  lessened  and  it  became  insuf 
ferably  hot.  A  bank  of  clouds  in  the  east  promised  a 
cooling  shower,  so  Johnnie  sought  the  nearest  shade  to 
wait  for  it,  and  took  advantage  of  the  delay  to  eat  his 
slender  lunch.  He  was  meditatively  munching  a  sweet- 
potato  when  a  sound  at  his  back  caused  him  to  leap  to  his 
feet  in  alarm.  He  whirled,  then  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
amazement.  Seated  not  fifty  feet  away  was  a  bare 
legged  boy,  similarly  engaged  in  eating  a  sweet-potato. 
It  was  Jacket.  His  brown  cheeks  were  distended,  his 
bright,  inquisitive  eyes  were  fixed  upon  O'Reilly  from 
beneath  a  defiant  scowl. 

"Jacket!"  cried  the  man.  "What  the  devil  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"You  goin'  to  let  me  come  along?"  challenged  the  in 
truder. 

282 


INTO   THE   CITY   OF   DEATH 

"So!  You  followed  me,  after  I  said  I  didn't  want 
you?"  O'Reilly  spoke  reproachfully;  but  reproaches  had 
no  effect  upon  the  lad.  With  a  mild  expletive,  Jacket 
signified  his  contempt  for  such  a  weak  form  of  persuasion. 

"See  here  now."  O'Reilly  stepped  closer.  "Let's  be 
sensible  about  this." 

But  Jacket  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  retreated  warily, 
stuffing  the  uneaten  portion  of  the  sweet-potato  into  his 
mouth.  It  was  plain  that  he  had  no  confidence  in  O'Reil 
ly's  intentions.  Muttering  something  in  a  muffled  voice, 
he  armed  himself  with  a  stout  stick. 

"Come  here,"  commanded  the  American. 

Jacket  shook  his  head.  He  made  a  painful  attempt  to 
swallow,  and  when  his  utterance  became  more  distinct  he 
consigned  his  idol  to  a  warmer  place  than  Cuba. 

"I'm  a  tough  kid,"  he  declared.  "Don't  get  gay  on 
me." 

The  two  parleyed  briefly;  then,  when  satisfied  that  no 
violence  was  intended  him,  the  boy  sat  down  to  listen. 
But,  as  before,  neither  argument  nor  appeal  had  the 
slightest  effect  upon  him.  He  denied  that  he  had  fol 
lowed  his  benefactor;  he  declared  that  he  was  a  free  agent 
and  at  liberty  to  go  where  he  willed.  If  it  so  chanced 
that  his  fancy  took  him  to  the  city  of  Matanzas  at  the 
same  time  O'Reilly  happened  to  be  traveling  thither,  the 
circumstance  might  be  put  down  to  the  long  arm  of  co 
incidence.  If  his  company  were  distasteful  to  the  elder 
man,  O'Reilly  was  free  to  wait  and  follow  later;  it  was  a 
matter  of  complete  indifference  to  Jacket.  He  had 
business  in  Matanzas  and  he  proposed  to  attend  to  it. 
The  boy  lied  gravely,  unblushingly.  Nevertheless,  he  kept 
a  watchful  eye  upon  his  hearer. 

"Very  well,"  O'Reilly  told  him,  finally.     "  I  give  in." 

Jacket's  face  instantly  lit  up.  He  radiated  good 
humor;  he  hitched  his  body  closer. 

"By !    I  get  my  own  way,  don't  I?"  he  laughed. 

283 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Indeed  you  do."  O'Reilly  laid  a  hand  fondly  upon 
his  loyal  follower.  "And  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
I'm  more  than  half  glad  of  it.  I — I  was  getting  lonesome. 
I  didn't  know  how  much  I  could  miss  you.  But  now  we 
must  make  some  plans,  we  must  have  an  understanding 
and  decide  who  we  are.  Let  me  see — your  real  name  is 
Narciso — " 

"Narciso  Villar." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  be  Juan  Villar,  your  brother.  Hence 
forth  we  shall  speak  nothing  but  Spanish.  Tell  me  now, 
what  was  our  father's  name,  where  was  our  home,  and 
what  are  we  doing  together?" 

During  the  breathless  interval  before  the  shower  the 
two  sat  with  their  heads  together,  talking  earnestly.  As 
the  wind  came  and  the  cooling  rain  began  to  rattle  on  the 
leaves  overhead  they  took  up  their  bundles  and  set  out. 
The  big  drops  drenched  them  quickly.  Their  thin  gar 
ments  clung  to  them  and  water  streamed  down  their 
bodies;  overhead  the  sky  was  black  and  rent  by  vivid 
streaks  of  fire,  but  they  plodded  onward  cheerfully. 

Jacket  was  himself  again ;  he  bent  his  weight  against  the 
tempest  and  lengthened  his  short  strides  to  O'Reilly's. 
He  tried  to  whistle,  but  his  teeth  chattered  and  the  wind 
interfered,  so  he  hummed  a  song,  to  drive  the  chill  out  of 
his  bones  and  to  hearten  his  benefactor.  Now  that  he 
was  at  last  accepted  as  a  full  partner  in  this  enterprise,  it 
became  his  duty  not  only  to  share  its  perils,  but  to  lessen 
its  hardships  and  to  yield  diversion. 

The  rain  was  cold,  the  briers  beside  the  overgrown  path 
were  sharp,  and  they  scratched  the  boy's  bare  legs  cruelly; 
his  stomach  clamored  for  a  companion  to  that  solitary 
sweet-potato,  too,  but  in  his  breast  glowed  ardor  and 
pride.  Jacket  considered  himself  a  fortunate  person — a 
very  fortunate  person,  indeed.  Had  he  not  found  a 
brother,  and  did  not  that  brother  love  him?  There  was 
no  doubt  about  the  latter,  for  O'Reilly's  eyes,  when  he 

284 


INTO  THE   CITY   OF    DEATH 

looked  down,  were  kind  and  smiling,  his  voice  was  friendly 
and  intimate.     Here  was  a  man  to  die  for. 

The  downpour  lasted  but  a  short  time,  then  the  sun 
came  out  and  dried  the  men's  clothes;  on  the  whole,  it 
had  been  refreshing.  When  evening  came  the  Villar 
brothers  sought  refuge  in  an  old  sugar-mill,  or  rather  in  a 
part  of  it  still  standing.  They  were  on  the  main  calzada 
now,  the  paved  road  which  links  the  two  main  cities  of  the 
island,  and  by  the  following  noon  their  destination  was 
in  sight. 

O'Reilly  felt  a  sudden  excitement  when  Matanzas  came 
into  view.  From  this  distance  the  city  looked  quite  as  it 
did  when  he  had  left  it,  except  that  the  blue  harbor  was 
almost  empty  of  shipping,  while  the  familiar  range  of 
hills  that  hid  the  Yumuri — that  valley  of  delight  so  closely 
linked  in  his  thoughts  with  Rosa  Varona — seemed  to  smile 
at  him  like  an  old  friend.  For  the  thousandth  time  he 
asked  himself  if  he  had  come  in  time  to  find  her,  or  if  fate's 
maddening  delays  had  proved  his  own  and  the  girl's 
undoing. 

O'Reilly  knew  that  although  Matanzas  was  a  prison 
and  a  pesthole,  a  girl  like  Rosa  would  suffer  therein  perils 
infinitely  worse  than  imprisonment  or  disease.  It  was  a 
thought  he  could  not  bear  to  dwell  upon. 

Signs  of  life  began  to  appear  now,  the  travelers  passed 
small  garden-patches  and  occasional  cultivated  fields;  they 
encountered  loaded  carts  bound  into  the  city,  and  once 
they  hid  themselves  while  a  column  of  mounted  troops 
went  by. 

O'Reilly  stopped  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  a  wrinkled 
cartman  whose  dejected  oxen  were  resting. 

"Going  into  the  city,  are  you?"  the  fellow  inquired. 
"Starved  out,  I  suppose.  Well,  it's  as  pleasant  to  starve 
in  one  place  as  another." 

Jacket  helped  himself  to  a  stalk  of  cane  from  the  load 
and  began  to  strip  it  with  his  teeth. 

285 


RAINBOW'S   END 

"Will  the  soldiers  allow  us  to  enter?"  Johnnie  inquired. 

"Of  course.  Why  not?"  The  old  man  laughed  mirth 
lessly;  then  his  voice  changed.  "Go  back,"  he  said,  "go 
back  and  die  in  the  fields.  Matanzas  stinks  of  rotting 
corpses.  Go  back  where  the  air  is  clean."  He  swung  his 
long  lash  over  the  oxen,  they  leaned  against  the  load,  and 
the  cart  creaked  dismally  on  its  way. 

It  is  never  difficult  to  enter  a  trap,  and  Matanzas  was 
precisely  that.  There  were  soldiers  everywhere,  but  be 
yond  an  indifferent  challenge  at  the  outer  blockhouse,  a 
perfunctory  question  or  two,  Narciso  and  Juan  Villar 
experienced  no  trouble  whatever  in  passing  the  lines. 
Discipline,  never  strict  at  best,  was  extremely  lax  at  the 
brick  Jortinas  along  the  roads,  and,  since  these  two  refugees 
were  too  poor  to  warrant  search,  they  were  waved  onward 
by  the  sentries.  They  obeyed  silently;  in  aimless  bewil 
derment  they  shuffled  along  toward  the  heart  of  the  city. 
Almost  before  they  realized  it  they  had  run  the  gauntlet 
and  had  joined  that  army  of  misery,  fifteen  thousand 
strong.  The  hand  of  Spain  had  closed  over  them. 


xxrv 

ROSA 

"T  OOK!"  Jacket  clutched  at  O'Reilly  and  pointed  a 
l_rf  shaking  finger.  "More  beggars!  Cristo!  And 
those  little  children!"  The  boy  tried  to  laugh,  but  his 
voice  cracked  nervously.  "Are  they  children,  or  gourds 
with  legs  under  them?" 

O'Reilly  looked,  then  turned  his  eyes  away.  He  and 
Jacket  had  reached  the  heart  of  Matanzas  and  were  facing 
the  public  square,  the  Plaza  de  la  Libertad  it  was  called. 
O'Reilly  knew  the  place  well;  every  building  that  flanked 
it  was  familiar  to  him,  from  the  vast,  rambling  Governor's 
Palace  to  the  ornate  Casino  Espanol  and  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  time  was  when  he  had  been  a  welcome  visitor 
at  all  of  them.  But  things  were  different  now.  Gone  were 
the  customary  crowds  of  well-dressed,  well-fed  citizens; 
gone  the  rows  of  carriages  which  at  this  hour  of  the  day 
were  wont  to  circle  the  Plaza  laden  with  the  aristocracy  of 
the  city;  gone  was  that  air  of  cheerfulness  and  substance 
which  had  lent  distinction  to  the  place.  Matanzas  ap 
peared  poor  and  squalid,  depressingly  wretched;  its 
streets  were  foul  and  the  Plaza  de  la  Libertad — grim 
mockery  of  a  name — was  crowded  with  a  throng  such  as 
it  had  never  held  in  O'Reilly's  time,  a  throng  of  people 
who  were,  without  exception,  gaunt,  listless,  ragged. 
There  was  no  afternoon  parade  of  finery,  no  laughter,  no 
noise;  the  benches  were  full,  but  their  occupants  were 
silent,  too  sick  or  too  weak  to  move.  Nor  were  there 
any  romping  children.  There  were,  to  be  sure,  vast 

287 


RAINBOW'S    END 

numbers  of  undersized  figures  in  the  square,  but  one 
needed  to  look  twice  to  realize  that  they  were  not  pygmies 
or  wizened  little  old  folks.  It  was  not  strange  that 
Jacket  had  compared  them  to  gourds  with  legs,  for  all  were 
naked,  and  most  of  them  had  bodies  swollen  into  the 
likeness  of  pods  or  calabashes.  They  looked  peculiarly 
grotesque  with  their  spidery  legs  and  thin  faces. 

O'Reilly  passed  a  damp  hand  across  his  eyes.  "God!" 
he  breathed.  "She — she's  one  of  these!" 

He  had  not  penetrated  even  thus  far  into  the  city  with 
out  receiving  a  hint  of  what  conditions  must  be,  for 
in  the  outlying  streets  he  had  seen  sights  and  smelled 
odors  that  had  sickened  him;  but  now  that  he  was  face 
to  face  with  the  worst,  now  that  he  breathed  the  very 
breath  of  misery,  he  could  scarcely  credit  what  he  saw. 
A  stench,  indescribably  nauseating,  assailed  him  and 
Jacket  as  they  mingled  with  the  crowd,  for  as  yet  their 
nostrils  were  unused  to  poverty  and  filth.  It  was  the 
rancid  odor  that  arises  from  unwashed,  unhealthy  bodies, 
and  it  testified  eloquently  to  the  living-conditions  of  the 
prisoners.  Hollow  eyes  and  hopeless  faces  followed 
the  two  new-comers  as  they  picked  their  way  slowly 
along. 

The  reconcentrados  overran  Matanzas  in  an  unclean 
swarm;  streets  and  plazas  were  congested  with  them,  for 
no  attempt  was  made  to  confine  them  to  their  quarters. 
Morning  brought  them  streaming  down  from  the  suburban 
slopes  where  they  lived,  evening  sent  them  winding  back; 
their  days  were  spent  in  an  aimless  search  for  food. 
They  snatched  at  crumbs  and  combed  the  gutters  for 
crusts.  How  they  managed  to  exist,  whence  came  the 
food  that  kept  life  in  their  miserable  bodies,  was  a  mystery, 
even  to  the  citizens  of  the  city;  no  organized  effort  had 
been  made  to  care  for  them  and  there  was  insufficient 
surplus  food  for  half  their  number.  Yet  somehow  they 
lived  and  lingered  on. 

288 


ROSA 

Of  course  the  city  was  not  entirely  peopled  by  the  starv 
ing — as  a  matter  of  fact  they  formed  scarcely  one-fifth 
of  the  normal  civil  population — and  the  life  of  the  city 
was  going  on  a  good  deal  as  usual.  Stores  were  open,  at 
least  there  was  a  daily  train  from  Habana,  and  the  bar 
racks  were  full  of  Spanish  troops.  It  was  from  off  the 
wastage  of  this  normal  population  that  these  fifteen 
thousand  prisoners  were  forced  to  live.  Even  this  wast 
age  was  woefully  inadequate,  merely  serving  to  prolong 
suffering  by  making  starvation  slower. 

At  the  time  of  O'Reilly's  arrival  the  sight  presented  by 
these  innocent  victims  of  war  was  appalling;  it  roused  in 
him  a  dull  red  rage  at  the  power  which  had  wrought  this 
crime  and  at  the  men  who  permitted  it  to  continue. 
Spain  was  a  Christian  nation,  he  reflected;  she  had  set  up 
more  crosses  than  any  other,  and  yet  beneath  them  she 
had  butchered  more  people  than  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth  combined.  This  monstrous,  coldly  calculating  effort 
to  destroy  the  entire  Cuban  people  seemed  to  him  the 
blackest  infamy  of  all,  and  he  wondered  if  it  would  be 
allowed  to  succeed. 

Fortunately  for  the  two  friends,  General  Betancourt's 
generosity  served  to  relieve  them  from  any  immediate 
danger  of  starvation.  After  making  a  few  purchases  and 
eating  with  the  utmost  frugality,  they  began  their  search. 
Later,  they  stretched  themselves  out  to  sleep  on  the 
stones  beneath  the  portales  of  the  railroad  station. 

They  spent  a  horrid,  harrowing  night,  for  now  the 
general  distress  was  brought  home  to  them  more  poig 
nantly  than  ever.  At  dawn  they  learned  that  these 
people  were  actually  dying  of  neglect.  The  faint  light  be 
trayed  the  presence  of  new  corpses  lying  upon  the  station 
flagstones.  From  those  still  living,  groans,  sighs,  sick 
mutterings  rose  until  O'Reilly  finally  dragged  his  youth 
ful  companion  out  of  the  place. 

"  I  can't  stand  that,"  he  confessed.  "  I  can't  sleep  when 

289 


RAINBOW'S    END 

people  are  starving  to  death   alongside  of  me.     This 
money  burns  my  pocket.     I — I — " 

Jacket  read  his  purpose  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"It  will  save  our  lives,  too,"  he  said,  simply. 

"Bah!  We  are  men.  There  are  women  and  children 
yonder — " 

But  Jacket's  sensibilities  were  calloused,  it  seemed. 
"  Of  what  use  would  your  few  pesetas  be  among  so  many?" 
he  inquired.  "God  has  willed  this,  and  He  knows  what 
He  is  doing.  Besides,  your  'pretty  one'  is  probably  as 
hungry  as  are  these  people.  No  doubt  we  shall  find  that 
she,  too,  is  starving." 

O'Reilly  slowly  withdrew  his  hand  from  his  pocket. 
"Yes!  It's  Rosa's  money.  But — come;  I  can't  endure 
this." 

He  led  the  way  back  to  the  Plaza  of  Liberty  and  there 
on  an  iron  bench  they  waited  for  the  full  day.  They  were 
very  tired,  but  further  sleep  was  impossible,  for  the  death- 
wagons  rumbled  by  on  their  way  to  collect  the  bodies  of 
those  who  had  died  during  the  night. 

Neither  the  man  nor  the  boy  ever  wholly  lost  the  night 
mare  memory  of  the  next  few  days,  for  their  search  took 
them  into  every  part  of  the  reconcentrado  districts.  What 
they  beheld  aged  them.  Day  after  day,  from  dawn  till 
dark,  they  wandered,  peering  into  huts,  staring  into  faces, 
asking  questions  until  they  were  faint  from  fatigue  and 
sick  with  disappointment. 

As  time  passed  and  they  failed  to  find  Rosa  Varona  a 
terrible  apprehension  began  to  weigh  O'Reilly  down;  his 
face  grew  old  and  drawn,  his  shoulders  sagged,  his  limbs 
began  to  drag.  It  was  all  that  Jacket  could  do  to  keep 
him  going.  The  boy,  now  that  there  was  actual  need  of 
him,  proved  a  perfect  jewel;  his  optimism  never  failed, 
his  faith  never  faltered,  and  O'Reilly  began  to  feel  a  dumb 
gratitude  at  having  the  youngster  by  his  side. 

290 


ROSA 

Jacket,  too,  became  thin  and  gray  about  the  lips.  But 
he  complained  not  at  all  and  he  laughed  a  great  deal.  To 
him  the  morrow  was  always  another  day  of  brilliant 
promise  toward  which  he  looked  with  never-failing  eager 
ness;  and  not  for  a  single  moment  did  he  question  the 
ultimate  success  of  their  endeavor.  Such  an  example  did 
much  for  the  older  man.  Together  they  practised  the 
strictest,  harshest  economy,  living  on  a  few  cents  a  day, 
while  they  methodically  searched  the  city  from  limit  to 
limit. 

At  first  O'Reilly  concerned  himself  more  than  a  little 
with  the  problem  of  escape,  but  as  time  wore  on  he  thought 
less  and  less  about  that.  Nor  did  he  have  occasion  to 
waste  further  concern  regarding  his  disguise.  That  it  was 
perfect  he  proved  when  several  of  his  former  acquaintances 
passed  him  by  and  when,  upon  one  occasion,  he  came  face 
to  face  with  old  Don  Mario  de  Castano.  Don  Mario  had 
changed;  he  was  older,  his  flesh  had  softened,  and  it  hung 
loosely  upon  his  form.  He  appeared  worried,  harassed, 
and  O'Reilly  recalled  rumors  that  the  war  had  ruined  him. 
The  man's  air  of  dejection  seemed  to  bear  out  the  story. 

They  had  been  enemies,  nevertheless  O'Reilly  felt  a 
sudden  impulse  to  make  himself  known  to  the  Spaniard 
and  to  appeal  directly  for  news  of  Rosa's  fate.  But 
Don  Mario,  he  remembered  in  time,  had  a  reputation  for 
vindictiveness,  so  he  smothered  the  desire.  One  other  en 
counter  O'Reilly  had  reason  to  remember. 

It  so  chanced  that  one  day  he  and  Jacket  found  them 
selves  in  the  miserable  rabble  which  assembled  at  the 
railroad  station  to  implore  alms  from  the  incoming  pas 
sengers  of  the  Habana  train.  Few  people  were  traveling 
these  days,  and  they  were,  for  the  most  part,  Spanish 
officers  to  whom  the  sight  of  starving  country  people  was 
no  novelty.  Now  and  then,  however,  there  did  arrive 
visitors  from  whom  the  spectacle  of  so  much  wretchedness 
wrung  a  contribution,  hence  there  was  always  an  ex- 

291 


RAINBOW'S    END 

pectant  throng  at  the  depot.  On  this  occasion  O'Reilly 
was  surprised  to  hear  the  piteous  whines  for  charity  in  the 
name  of  God  turn  suddenly  into  a  subdued  but  vicious 
mutter  of  rage.  Hisses  were  intermingled  with  vituper 
ations,  then  the  crowd  fell  strangely  silent,  parting  to 
allow  the  passage  of  a  great,  thick-set  man  in  the  uniform 
of  a  Colonel  of  Volunteers.  The  fellow  was  unusually 
swarthy  and  he  wore  a  black  scowl  upon  his  face,  while  a 
long  puckering  scar  the  full  length  of  one  cheek  lifted  his 
mouth  into  a  crooked  sneer  and  left  exposed  a  glimpse  of 
wolfish  teeth. 

O'Reilly  was  at  a  loss  to  fathom  this  sudden  alteration 
of  attitude,  the  whistle  of  indrawn  breaths  and  the  whis 
pered  curses,  until  he  heard  some  one  mutter  the  name, 
"Cobo."  Then  indeed  he  started  and  stiffened  in  his 
tracks.  He  fixed  a  fascinated  stare  upon  the  fellow. 

Colonel  Cobo  seemed  no  little  pleased  by  the  reception 
he  created.  With  his  chest  arched  and  his  black  eyes 
gleaming  malevolently  he  swaggered  through  the  press, 
clicking  his  heels  noisily  upon  the  stone  flags.  When  he 
had  gone  Jacket  voiced  a  vicious  oath. 

"So  that  is  the  butcher  of  babies!"  exclaimed  the  boy. 
"Well,  now,  I  should  enjoy  cutting  his  heart  out." 

O'Reilly's  emotions  were  not  entirely  unlike  those  of  his 
small  companion.  His  lips  became  dry  and  white  as  he 
tried  to  speak. 

"What  a  brute!    That  face—    Ugh!" 

He  found  himself  shaking  weakly,  and  discovered  that 
a  new  and  wholly  unaccountable  feeling  of  discouragement 
had  settled  upon  him.  He  tried  manfully  to  shake  it  off, 
but  somehow  failed,  for  the  sight  of  Rosa's  arch-enemy 
and  the  man's  overbearing  personality  had  affected  him 
queerly.  Cobo's  air  of  confidence  and  authority  seemed 
to  emphasize  O'Reilly's  impotence  and  bring  it  forcibly 
home  to  him.  To  think  of  his  lustful  persecution  of  Rosa 
Varona,  moreover,  terrified  him.  The  next  day  he  re- 

292 


ROSA 

sumed  his  hut-to-hut  search,  but  with  a  listlessness  that 
came  from  a  firm  conviction  that  once  again  he  was  too  late. 

That  afternoon  found  the  two  friends  among  the  miser 
able  hovels  which  encircled  the  foot  of  La  Cumbre,  about 
the  only  quarter  they  had  not  explored.  Below  lay 
San  Severino,  the  execution-place;  above  was  the  site  of 
the  old  Verona  home.  More  than  once  on  his  way  about 
the  city  O'Reilly  had  lifted  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
the  latter,  feeling  a  great  hunger  to  revisit  the  scene  of  his 
last  farewell  to  Rosa,  but  through  fear  of  the  melancholy 
effect  it  would  have  upon  him  he  had  thus  far  resisted  the 
impulse.  To-day,  however,  he  could  no  longer  fight  the 
morbid  desire  and  so,  in  spite  of  Jacket's  protest  at  the 
useless  expenditure  of  effort,  he  set  out  to  climb  the  hill. 
Of  course  the  boy  would  not  let  him  go  alone. 

Little  was  said  during  the  ascent.  The  La  Cumbre 
road  seemed  very  long  and  very  steep.  How  different 
the  last  time  O'Reilly  had  swung  up  it !  The  climb  had 
never  before  tired  him  as  it  did  now,  and  he  reasoned  that 
hunger  must  have  weakened  him  even  more  than  he 
realized.  Jacket  felt  the  exertion,  too;  he  was  short  of 
breath  and  he  rested  frequently.  O'Reilly  saw  that  the 
boy's  bare,  brown  legs  had  grown  bony  since  he  had  last 
noticed  them,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  pang  at  having  brought 
the  little  fellow  into  such  a  plight  as  this. 

"Well,  hombre,"  he  said  when  they  paused  to  rest, 
"I'm  afraid  we  came  too  late.  I'm  afraid  we're  licked." 

Jacket  nodded  listlessly;  his  optimism,  too,  was  gone. 
"They  must  all  be  dead  or  we  would  have  found  them 
before  this,"  said  he.  When  O'Reilly  made  no  answer  he 
continued,  "It  is  time  we  thought  of  getting  away  from 
here,  eh?" 

Johnnie  was  sitting  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  With 
out  lifting  his  head  he  inquired:  "How  are  we  going  to 
get  away?  It  is  easy  enough  to  get  into  Matanzas,  but — " 
He  shrugged  hopelessly. 

'      293 


RAINBOW'S    END 

From  where  the  two  sat  they  could  see  on  the  opposite 
hillside  a  section  of  the  ditch  and  the  high  barbed-wire 
fence  which  girdled  the  city  and  made  of  it  a  huge  corral. 
Spaced  at  regular  intervals  along  the  intrenchments  were 
slow-moving,  diminutive  figures,  sentries  on  their  well- 
worn  paths. 

Jacket  brightened  at  the  thought  of  escape.  "Ho! 
I'll  bet  we  can  find  a  hole  somewhere,"  said  he.  "We're 
not  like  these  others.  They  haven't  the  spirit  to  try." 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then:  "Caramba! 
You  remember  those  jutias  we  ate?  They  were  strong, 
but  I  would  enjoy  the  smell  of  one  now.  Eh?  Another 
week  of  this  and  we  shall  be  living  on  garbage  like  the 
rest  of  these  poor  people." 

Leaving  Jacket  to  take  his  time,  Johnnie  completed  the 
climb  alone,  meditating  upon  the  boy's  words.  "The 
spirit  to  try!"  Where  had  his  spirit  gone,  he  wondered. 
Perhaps  it  had  been  crushed  beneath  the  weight  of  misery 
he  had  beheld;  surely  he  had  seen  enough.  Hourly  con 
tact  with  sickness  and  misfortune  on  such  a  gigantic  scale 
was  enough  to  chill  any  one's  hopes,  and  although  his 
sensibilities  had  been  dulled,  his  apprehensions  had  been 
quickened  hour  by  hour.  Now  that  he  looked  the  matter 
squarely  in  the  face,  it  seemed  absurd  to  believe  that  a 
tender  girl  like  Rosa  Varona  could  long  have  withstood 
the  hardships  of  this  hideous  place;  stronger  people  than 
she  had  succumbed,  by  the  hundreds.  Even  now  the 
hospitals  were  full,  the  sick  lay  untended  in  their  hovels. 
No  one,  so  far  as  O'Reilly  knew,  had  undertaken  to 
estimate  how  fast  they  were  dying  or  the  number  of  dead 
which  had  already  ridden  out  of  Matanzas  in  those 
rumbling  wagons,  but  there  were  many.  What  chance 
was  there  that  Rosa  had  not  been  among  the  latter? 
Better  by  far  had  she  remained  among  the  empty  fields 
and  the  barren  slopes  of  the  Pan  de  Matanzas,  for  there 
at  least  the  soil  held  roots  and  the  trees  bore  fruits  or 

294 


ROSA 

berries,  while  here  was  nothing  but  gaunt  famine  and 
grinning  disease. 

As  he  breasted  the  summit  of  La  Cumbre,  O'Reilly  be 
held  at  some  distance  a  bent  figure  of  want.  It  was  a 
negro  woman,  grubbing  in  the  earth  with  a  sharpened 
stick.  After  a  suspicious  scrutiny  of  him  she  resumed  her 

digging- 
Nothing  but  a  heap  of  stones  and  plaster  remained  of 
the  Varona  home.  The  grounds,  once  beautiful  even  when 
neglected  as  in  Dona  Isabel's  time,  were  now  a  scene  of 
total  desolation.  A  few  orange-trees,  to  be  sure,  remained 
standing,  and  although  they  were  cool  and  green  to  look 
at,  they  carried  no  fruit  and  the  odor  of  their  blooms  was  a 
trial  and  a  mockery  to  the  hungry  visitor.  The  evidences 
of  Cueto's  vandalism  affected  O'Reilly  deeply;  they 
brought  him  memories  more  painful  than  he  had  antici 
pated.  Although  the  place  was  well-nigh  unrecognizable, 
nevertheless  it  cried  aloud  of  Rosa,  and  the  unhappy  lover 
could  barely  control  the  emotions  it  awakened.  It  was 
indeed  a  morbid  impulse  which  had  brought  him  thither, 
but  now  that  he  was  here  he  could  not  leave.  Uncon 
sciously  his  feet  turned  toward  the  ancient  quarry  which 
had  formed  the  sunken  garden — his  and  Rosa's  trysting- 
place. 

O'Reilly  desired  above  all  things  to  be  alone  at  this 
moment,  and  so  he  was  annoyed  to  discover  that  another 
person  was  before  him — a  woman,  evidently  some  miser 
able  facifico  like  himself.  She,  too,  appeared  to  be 
looking  for  roots,  and  he  almost  stumbled  over  her  as  he 
brushed  through  the  guava-bushes  fringing  the  depression. 
His  sudden  appearance  alarmed  the  creature  and  she 
struggled,  panic-stricken,  out  of  his  path.  Her  rags 
could  not  conceal  the  fact  that  she  was  deformed,  that 
her  back  was  crooked,  so  he  muttered  a  reassuring  word 
to  her. 

This  place  was  more  as  he  had  left  it — there  was  the 

295 


RAINBOW'S    END 

stone  bench  where  he  had  said  good-by  to  Rosa;  yonder 
was  the  well — 

"  Senor !"  Johnnie  heard  himself  addressed  by  the  hunch 
backed  woman.  Her  voice  was  thin,  tremulous,  eager,  but 
his  thoughts  were  busy  and  he  paid  no  heed.  "Senor! 
Do  you  look  for  something — some  one — " 

"N-no.  Yes — "  he  answered,  abstractedly.  "Yes,  I 
am  looking  for  something — some  one." 

"Something  you  have  lost?" 

"Something  I  have  lost!"  The  question  came  to  him 
faintly,  but  it  was  so  in  tune  with  his  unhappy  mood  that 
it  affected  him  strangely.  He  found  that  his  eyes  were 
blurring  and  that  an  aching  lump  had  risen  into  his 
throat.  This  was  the  breaking-point. 

O'Reilly's  hearing,  too,  was  going  wrong,  for  he  imagined 
that  some  one  whispered  his  name.  God!  This  place 
was  not  dead — it  was  alive — terribly  alive  with  memories, 
voices,  a  presence  unseen  yet  real.  He  laid  hold  of  the 
nearest  bush  to  steady  himself,  he  closed  his  eyes,  only 
to  hear  his  name  spoken  louder: 

"O'Rail-ye!" 

Johnnie  brushed  the  tears  from  his  lashes.  He  turned, 
he  listened,  but  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen,  no  one,  that 
is,  except  the  dusky  cripple  who  had  straightened  herself 
and  was  facing  him,  poised  uncertainly.  He  looked  at 
her  a  second  time,  then  the  world  began  to  spin  dizzily 
and  he  groped  his  way  toward  her.  He  peered  again, 
closer,  for  everything  before  his  eyes  was  swimming. 

The  woman  was  thin — little  more  than  a  skeleton — and 
so  frail  that  the  wind  appeared  to  sway  her,  but  her  face, 
uplifted  to  the  sun,  was  glorified.  O'Reilly  stood  rooted, 
staring  at  her  until  she  opened  her  eyes,  then  he  voiced  a 
great  cry: 

"Rosa!"    What  more  he  said  he  never  knew  .  .  . 

He  took  the  misshapen  figure  into  his  arms,  he  rained 
kisses  upon  the  pinched,  discolored  face.  But  Rosa  did 

296 


ROSA 

not  respond;  her  puny  strength  had  flown  and  she  lay 
inert  in  his  embrace,  scarcely  breathing.  Tears  stole  down 
her  cheeks  and  very  faintly  her  fingers  fluttered  over  his 
bearded  cheeks. 

Dazed,  doubting,  astounded,  it  was  some  time  before 
Johnnie  could  convince  himself  of  the  reality  of  this  mo 
ment,  and  even  then  words  did  not  come  to  him,  for  his 
mind  was  in  turmoil.  Joy,  thanksgiving,  compassion — 
a  thousand  emotions — mingled  in  a  sort  of  delirium,  too 
wild  for  coherent  thought  or  speech. 

Fear  finally  brought  him  to  his  senses,  for  he  became 
aware  that  Rosa  had  collapsed  and  that  his  endearments 
left  her  unthrilled.  Quickly  he  bore  her  to  the  bench  and 
laid  her  upon  it.  After  a  time  she  smiled  up  into  his  eyes 
and  her  words  were  scarcely  more  than  a  murmur: 

"God  heard  my  prayers  and  sent  you  to  me." 

"Rosa!    You  are  ill,  you  are  weak — " 

Her  eyelids  fluttered.  "  I  am  dying,  O'Rail-ye.  I  only 
waited  to  see  you." 

' '  No,  no !"  In  agony  he  gathered  her  once  more  into  his 
arms. 

' '  Oh  yes !' '  Her  bloodless  ringers  touched  his  face  again, 
then  his  thin,  worn  rags.  "You,  too,  have  suffered. 
How  came  you  to  be  so  poor  and  hungry,  O'Rail-ye?" 

"I'm  not  poor,  I'm  rich.  See!"  He  jingled  the  coins 
in  his  pocket.  "That's  money;  money  for  you,  sweet 
heart.  It  will  buy  you  food  and  medicine,  it  will  make 
you  well  and  strong  again.  Rosa,  dear,  I  have  looked 
for  you  so  long,  so  long — "  His  voice  broke  wretchedly 
and  he  bowed  his  head.  "I — I  was  afraid — " 

"I  waited  as  long  as  I  had  strength  to  wait,"  she  told 
him.  "  It  is  too  bad  you  came  so  late." 

Once  again  she  lapsed  into  the  lethargy  of  utter  weak 
ness,  whereupon  he  fell  to  stroking  her  hands,  calling  upon 
her  to  come  back  to  him.     He  was  beside  himself  now;  a 
terrible  feeling  of  impotence  and  despair  overcame  him. 
20  297 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Hearing  some  one  speak,  he  raised  his  eyes  and  dis 
covered  at  his  side  that  figure  of  want  which  he  had  seen 
digging  on  the  slope  below.  It  was  Evangelina.  The 
negress  was  little  more  than  skin  and  bones,  her  eyes  were 
bleared  and  yellow  and  sunken,  her  face  had  grown  ape 
like,  but  he  recognized  her  and  she  him. 

"You  are  the  American,"  she  declared.  "You  are 
Rosa's  man." 

"Yes.  But  what  is  wrong  with  her?  Look!  She  is 
ill—" 

"She  is  often  like  that.  It  is  the  hunger.  We  have 
nothing  to  eat,  sefior.  I,  too,  am  ill — dying;  and  Asen- 
sio —  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  they  have  made  us 
suffer." 

' '  We  must  get  Rosa  home.    Where  do  you  live  ?" 

Evangelina  turned  her  death's  head  toward  the  city. 
"Down  yonder.  But  what's  the  use?  There  is  no  food 
in  our  house  and  Rosa  is  afraid  of  those  wagons.  You 
know — the  ones  with  the  corpses.  She  made  me  bring 
her  here  to  die." 

The  girl  was  not  wholly  unconscious,  it  seemed,  for  she 
stirred  and  murmured,  faintly:  "Those  wagons!  Don't 
let  them  put  me  in  there  with  the  other  dead.  They  pile 
the  bodies  high — "  A  weak  shudder  convulsed  her. 

O'Reilly  bent  lower,  and  in  a  strong,  determined  voice 
cried:  "You  are  not  going  to  die.  I  have  money  for  food. 
Rouse  yourself,  Rosa,  rouse  yourself." 

"She  prayed  for  you  every  night,"  the  negress  volun 
teered.  "Such  faith!  Such  trust!  She  never  doubted 
that  you  would  come  and  find  her.  Sometimes  she  cried, 
but  that  was  because  of  her  brother.  Est^ban,  you 
know,  is  dead.  Yes,  dead,  like  all  the  rest." 

"  Este"ban  is  not  dead,"  O'Reilly  asserted.  "  He  is  alive. 
Rosa,  do  you  hear  that?  Este"ban  is  alive  and  well.  I 
left  him  with  Gomez  in  the  Orient.  I  have  come  to  take 
you  to  him." 

298 


ROSA 

"Este*ban  alive?  Ha!  You  are  fooling  us."  Evan- 
gelina  wagged  her  head  wisely.  "We  know  better  than 
that." 

"I  tell  you  he  is  alive,"  O'Reilly  insisted.  He  heard 
Jacket  calling  to  him  at  that  moment,  so  he  hallooed  to 
the  boy;  then  when  the  latter  had  arrived  he  explained 
briefly,  without  allowing  Jacket  time  in  which  to  express 
his  amazement: 

"Our  search  is  over;  we  have  found  them.  But  they 
won't  believe  that  Est6ban  is  alive.  Tell  them  the 
truth." 

"Yes,  he  is  alive.  We  found  him  rotting  in  a  prison 
and  we  rescued  him,"  Jacket  corroborated.  He  stared 
curiously  at  the  recumbent  figure  on  the  bench,  then  at 
O'Reilly.  He  puckered  his  lips  and  gave  vent  to  a  low 
whistle  of  amazement.  "So.  This  is  your  pretty  one, 
eh?  I—  She—  Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  her.  But 
then,  you  are  not  so  handsome  yourself,  are  you?" 

Evangelina  seemed  to  be  stupid,  a  trifle  touched,  per 
haps,  from  suffering,  for  she  laid  a  skinny  claw  upon 
O'Reilly's  shoulder  and  warned  him  earnestly:  " Look  out 
for  Cobo.  You  have  heard  about  him,  eh?  Well,  he  is 
the  cause  of  all  our  misery.  He  hunted  us  from  place  to 
place,  and  it  was  for  him  that  I  put  that  hump  on  her 
back.  Understand  me,  she  is  straight — straight  and 
pretty  enough  for  any  American.  Her  skin  is  like  milk, 
too,  and  her  hair — she  used  to  put  flowers  in  it  for  you, 
and  then  we  would  play  games.  But  you  never  came. 
You  will  make  allowances  for  her  looks,  will  you  not?" 

"Poor  Rosa!  You  two  poor  creatures!"  O'Reilly 
choked;  he  hid  his  face  upon  his  sweetheart's  breast. 

Rosa  responded;  her  fingers  caressed  him  and  she 
sighed  contentedly. 

O'Reilly's  ascent  of  the  hill  had  been  slow,  but  his 
descent  was  infinitely  slower,  for  Rosa  was  so  feeble  that 
she  could  help  herself  but  little  and  he  lacked  the  strength 

299 


RAINBOW'S    END 

to  carry  her  far  at  a  time.  Finally,  however,  they  reached 
the  wretched  hovel  where  Asensio  lay,  then  leaving  her 
there,  Johnnie  sped  on  alone  into  the  city.  He  returned 
soon  with  several  small  bundles  concealed  about  his 
person,  and  with  Evangelina's  help  he  set  about  preparing 
food. 

Neither  Rosa  nor  the  two  negroes  had  any  appetite — 
their  hunger  had  long  since  passed  the  point  at  which  they 
were  conscious  of  it — and  O'Reilly  was  compelled  to  force 
them  to  eat.  When  he  had  given  them  all  that  he  dared 
he  offered  what  food  was  left  to  Jacket. 

The  boy  moistened  his  lips  and  his  fingers  twitched, 
but  he  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  hungry,"  he  declared,  indifferently. 
"I  have  a  friend  in  the  market-place;  I  will  go  down  there 
and  steal  a  fish  from  him." 

O'Reilly  patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  saying:  "You  are 
a  good  kid,  and  you  understand,  don't  you?  These  sick 
people  will  need  more  food  than  we  can  buy  for  them,  so 
we  will  have  to  draw  our  belts  tight." 

"Of  course.  Eating  is  a  habit,  anyhow,  and  we  men 
know  how  to  get  along  without  it.  I  will  manage  to  find 
something  for  you  and  me,  for  I'm  a  prodigious  thief.  I 
can  steal  the  hair  from  a  man's  head  when  I  try."  With 
a  nod  he  set  off  to  find  his  benefactor's  supper. 

Jacket  whistled  heroically  until  he  was  out  of  O'Reilly's 
hearing,  then  his  bearing  changed.  His  mouth  drew 
down,  and  moisture  came  into  his  eyes.  He  rubbed  a 
grimy  hand  over  his  stomach,  murmuring,  faintly: 
"Cristo!  It  is  hard  to  be  a  man  when  you  smell  things 
cooking!" 


XXV 

THE   HAUNTED   GARDEN 

ROSA  VARONA  did  not  die.  On  the  contrary,  under 
her  lover's  care  she  made  so  amazingly  swift  a  re 
covery  that  improvement  was  visible  from  hour  to  hour; 
she  rallied  like  a  wilted  flower  under  a  refreshing  rain. 
It  was  O'Reilly's  presence  as  much  as  the  nourishing  diet 
provided  by  his  money  which  effected  this  marvel,  al 
though  the  certainty  that  Este"ban  was  alive  and  safe  put 
added  force  into  her  determination  to  live.  Rosa  found 
hope  springing  up  in  her  breast,  and  one  day  she  caught 
herself  laughing.  The  marvel  of  it  was  unbelievable. 
O'Reilly  was  sitting  beside  her  bed  of  leaves  at  the  time; 
impulsively  she  pressed  his  hand  to  her  lips,  repeating  a 
question  she  had  asked  him  many  times: 

"  Do  you  love  me?" 

For  answer  he  bent  and  kissed  her.  What  he  said  was 
of  no  consequence. 

Rosa  held  his  hand  against  her  cheek,  at  a  loss  for 
words  with  which  to  voice  her  gladness. 

"Such  happiness  as  mine  belongs  in  heaven,"  she  man 
aged  to  tell  him.  "Sometimes  it  frightens  me.  With  you 
by  my  side  this  prison  is  a  paradise  and  I  want  for  nothing. 
War,  suffering,  distress — I  can't  imagine  they  longer 
exist." 

"Nevertheless,  they  do,  and  Matanzas  is  anything  but 
a  paradise,"  said  he.  "  It  is — hell,  and  we  must  set  about 
quickly  to  get  out  of  it." 

"Escape,  do  you  mean?  But  that  is  impossible. 
301 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Asensio  can  tell  you  all  about  that.  The  Spaniards 
used  to  issue  passes  for  the  men  to  go  outside  the  lines 
in  search  of  food.  It  was  just  a  trick.  They  never  came 
back — all  of  them  were  killed.  Every  one  knows  better 
than  to  try,  now." 

"Nevertheless,  we  can't  stay  here  much  longer."  In 
answer  to  the  girl's  puzzled  inquiry  he  explained:  "My 
money  is  gone — all  but  a  few  cents.  This  is  the  last  of 
our  food  and  there  is  no  chance  of  getting  more.  Jacket 
has  some  mysterious  source  of  supply  and  he  manages  to 
bring  in  something  every  now  and  then,  but  there  are 
five  of  us  to  feed,  and  he  can't  furnish  more  than  enough 
for  himself.  No,  we  must  make  a  move  at  once,  while 
we  have  the  strength." 

Rosa  had  not  asked  the  source  whence  came  the  blessed 
food  which  was  bringing  the  life  blood  back  into  her  body, 
and  although  that  food  was  not  much — a  little  meal,  a 
plantain,  an  occasional  scrap  of  meat  or  fish — it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  the  supply  might  be  limited.  She 
met  the  problem  bravely,  however. 

"I  have  been  close  to  death  so  long  that  it  means  little 
to  me,"  she  confessed.  "I  have  you,  and — well,  with  you 
at  my  side  I  can  face  the  worst." 

"Oh,  we  won't  give  up  until  we  have  to,"  he  assured 
her.  "If  I  had  money  it  would  be  a  simple  proposition 
to  bribe  some  guard  to  pass  us  through  the  lines,  but  I 
have  spent  all  that  General  Betancourt  gave  me."  He 
smoothed  back  Rosa's  dark  hair  and  smiled  reassuringly 
at  her.  "Well,  I'll  manage  somehow ;  so  don't  worry  your 
pretty  head.  I'll  find  the  price,  if  I  have  to  waylay  old 
Don  Mario  and  rob  him.  Don't  you  think  I  look  like  a 
bandit?  The  very  sight  of  me  would  terrify  that  fat  rascal." 

"To  me  you  are  beautiful,"  breathed  the  girl.  Then 
she  lowered  her  eyes.  "La,  la!  How  I  spoil  you!  I 
have  quite  forgotten  how  to  be  ladylike.  Isabel  was 
right  when  she  called  me  a  bold  and  forward  hussy. 

302 


THE   HAUNTED   GARDEN 

Now,  then,  please  turn  your  face  aside,  for  I  wish  to 
think,  and  so  long  as  you  look  at  me  I  cannot— I  make 
love  to  you  brazenly.  See!  Now,  then,  that  is  much 
better.  I  shall  hold  your  hand,  so.  When  I  kiss  it  you 
may  look  at  me  again,  for  a  moment."  Drawing  herself 
closer  to  O'Reilly,  Rosa  began  thoughtfully:  "Before  you 
came  I  more  than  once  was  on  the  point  of  appealing  to 
some  of  my  former  friends,  but  they  are  all  Spaniards  and 
we  are  no  longer — simpatico,  you  understand?" 

Rosa  paused  for  his  answer. 

"Perfectly;  I'm  in  the  same  fix.  Of  all  the  people  I 
used  to  know  there  isn't  one  but  would  denounce  me  if  I 
made  myself  known.  Now  that  I've  been  fighting  with 
the  Insurrectos,  I  daren't  even  go  to  the  American  consul 
for  help — if  there  is  an  American  consul." 

Rosa  nodded,  then  continued,  hesitatingly:  "I  had  a 
vivid  dream  last  night.  Perhaps  it  was  a  portent.  Who 
knows?  It  was  about  that  stepmother  of  mine.  You  re 
member  how  she  met  her  death?  I  wrote  you — " 

"Yes,  and  Este*ban  also  told  me." 

"It  was  he  who  recovered  her  body  from  the  well. 
One  day,  while  we  were  in  hiding,  away  up  yonder  in  the 
Yumuri,  he  showed  me  an  old  coin — " 

"I  know,"  O'Reilly  said,  quickly.  "He  told  me  the 
whole  story.  He  thinks  that  doubloon  is  a  clue  to  your 
father's  fortune,  but — I  can't  put  much  faith  in  it.  In 
fact,  I  didn't  believe  until  this  moment  that  there  was  a 
doubloon  at  all." 

"Oh,  indeed  there  was!    I  saw  it." 

"Then  it  wasn't  merely  a  sick  fancy  of  your  brother's?" 

"  Indeed  no,  it — "  Rosa  broke  off  to  exclaim, "  O'Reilly, 
you  are  looking  at  me!" 

"But  you  gave  me  the  signal  to  look,"  he  protested. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort;  you  placed  your  fingers  upon 
my  lips."  There  was  a  moment  of  silence  during  which 
the  lovers  were  oblivious  to  all  but  each  other,  then  Rosa 

303 


RAINBOW'S    END 

murmured:  "How  strange!  Sometimes  your  eyes  are 
blue  and  sometimes  gray.  Does  that  mean  that  your 
love,  too,  can  change?" 

"Certainly  not.  But  come,  what  about  Est^ban  and 
that  doubloon?" 

With  an  effort  the  girl  brought  herself  back  to  earth. 
"Well,  it  occurred  to  me,  in  the  light  of  that  dream  last 
night,  that  Est6ban  may  have  been  right.  Of  course  no 
body  outside  of  our  family  credits  the  old  story,  and  yet 
my  father  was  considered  a  very  rich  man  at  one  time. 
Pancho  Cueto  believed  in  the  existence  of  the  treasure, 
and  he  was  in  a  position  to  know." 

"True!  Perhaps,  after  all— "  O'Reilly  frowned  med 
itatively. 

Rosa  lifted  herself  upon  her  elbow,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
"Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful  if  it  were  true?  Just  think, 
O'Reilly,  cases  of  Spanish  gold,  silver  coins  in  casks, 
packages  of  gems.  Oh,  I've  heard  Isabel  talk  about  it 
often  enough!" 

"Don't  forget  those  pearls  from  the  Caribbean,  as 
large  as  plums,"  Johnny  smiled.  "I  could  never  quite 
swallow  that.  A  pearl  the  size  of  a  currant  would  buy 
our  freedom  right  now."  After  a  moment  he  went  on, 
more  seriously:  "I've  a  notion  to  look  into  that  old  well 
this  very  afternoon.  I — I  dare  say  I'm  foolish,  but — 
somehow  the  story  doesn't  sound  so  improbable  as  it 
did.  Perhaps  it  is  worth  investigating — "  He  made  up 
his  mind  swiftly.  "I — I'm  off  this  very  instant." 

When  O'Reilly  emerged  from  the  hut  he  found  Jacket 
industriously  at  work  over  a  fragment  of  grindstone 
which  he  had  somewhere  unearthed.  The  boy  looked  up 
at  his  friend's  approach  and  held  out  for  inspection  a  long, 
thin  file,  which  he  was  slowly  shaping  into  a  knife-blade. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  queried,  proudly. 
"  It  may  come  in  handy  when  we  are  ready  to  clear  out 
of  this  pesthole." 

304 


THE   HAUNTED   GARDEN 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"Oh,  I  stole  it.  I  steal  everything  I  can  lay  my  hands 
on  nowadays.  One  can  never  tell  when  he  may  have  a 
throat  to  cut,  and  a  file  has  good  steel  in  it." 

"Since  you  are  such  an  accomplished  thief,  do  you 
think  you  could  steal  something  for  me?"  O'Reilly  in 
quired.  "A  piece  of  rope?" 

"Rope?"  Jacket  was  puzzled.  "Rope  is  only  good 
for  hanging  Spaniards.  My  friend  in  the  fish-market  has 
a  volandra,  and — perhaps  I  can  rob  him  of  a  halyard." 
Laying  aside  his  task,  Jacket  arose  and  made  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  water-front.  He  was  back  within  an 
hour,  and  under  his  shirt  he  carried  a  coil  of  worn,  but 
serviceable,  rope.  Without  waiting  to  explain  his  need 
for  this  unusual  article,  O'Reilly  linked  arms  with  the 
boy  and  set  out  to  climb  La  Cumbre.  When  at  last  they 
stood  in  the  unused  quarry  and  Johnnie  made  known  his 
intention  to  explore  the  old  well  Jacket  regarded  him  with 
undisguised  amazement. 

"What  do  you  expect  to  find  down  there?"  the  latter 
inquired. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  really  expect  to  find  any 
thing,"  the  man  confessed.  "Now  that  I'm  here,  I'm 
beginning  to  feel  silly;  nevertheless,  I'm  going  to  have  a 
look  for  the  hidden  treasure  of  the  Varonas." 

"Hidden  treasure!"  From  Jacket's  expression  it  was 
plain  that  he  feared  his  friend  was  mildly  mad.  Even 
after  O'Reilly  had  told  him  something  about  old  Don 
Este"ban's  missing  riches,  he  scouted  the  story.  He 
peeped  inquisitively  into  the  dark  opening  of  the  well, 
then  he  shook  his  head.  "Caramba!  What  an  idea! 
Was  this  old  man  crazy,  to  throw  his  money  away?" 

"He — he  had  more  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  and 
he  wished  to  save  it  from  the  Spaniards,"  O'Reilly  ex 
plained,  lamely. 

"Humph!  Nobody  ever  had  more  money  than  he 

305 


RAINBOW'S    END 

wanted."  The  boy's  disgust  at  such  credulity  was 
plain.  "This  well  looks  just  like  any  other,  only  deeper; 
you'd  better  look  out  that  you  don't  break  your  neck 
like  that  foolish  old  woman,  that  Dona  What's-Her- 
Name." 

O'Reilly  did  indeed  feel  that  he  was  making  himself 
ridiculous,  nevertheless  he  made  the  rope  fast  and  swung 
himself  down  out  of  the  sunlight,  leaving  Jacket  to  stand 
guard  over  him.  Perhaps  fifteen  minutes  later  he  re 
appeared,  panting  from  his  exertions.  He  was  wet, 
slimy;  his  clothes  were  streaked  and  stained  with  mud. 
Jacket  began  to  laugh  shrilly  at  his  appearance. 

"Ha!  What  a  big  lizard  is  this?  Your  beautiful  gar 
ments  are  spoiled.  And  the  treasure?  Where  is  it?" 
The  lad  was  delighted.  He  bent  double  with  mirth;  he 
slapped  his  bare  legs  and  stamped  his  feet  in  glee. 

O'Reilly  grinned  good-naturedly,  and  replaced  the 
planks  which  had  covered  the  orifice,  then  hid  the  rope  in 
some  near-by  bushes.  On  their  way  back  he  endured  his 
young  friend's  banter  absent-mindedly,  but  as  they 
neared  Asensio's  house  he  startled  Jacket  by  saying, 
"Can  you  manage  to  find  a  pick-ax  or  a  crowbar?" 

Jacket's  eyes  opened;  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
dusty  road.  "What  did  you  see  down  there,  compadre? 
Tell  me." 

"Nothing  much.  Just  enough  to  make  me  want  to 
see  more.  Do  you  think  you  can  steal  some  sort  of  a  tool 
forme?" 

"I  can  try." 

' '  Please  do.  And  remember,  say  nothing  before  Asensio 
or  his  wife." 

Rosa  met  O'Reilly  just  inside  the  door,  and  at  sight  of 
her  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  for  during  his 
absence  she  had  removed  the  stain  from  her  face  and  dis 
carded  that  disfigurement  which  Evangelina  had  fitted  to 
her  back  prior  to  their  departure  from  the  Pan  de  Matan- 

306 


THE   HAUNTED   GARDEN 

zas.  She  stood  before  him  now,  straight  and  slim  and 
graceful — the  Rosa  of  his  dreams,  only  very  thin,  very 
fragile.  Her  poor  tatters  only  enhanced  her  prettiness, 
so  he  thought. 

"Rosa  dear!  Do  you  think  this  is  quite  safe?"  he 
ventured,  doubtfully. 

Evangelina,  who  was  bending  over  her  husband, 
straightened  herself  and  came  forward  with  a  smile  upon 
her  black  face. 

"She  is  beautiful,  eh?  Too  beautiful  to  look  at? 
What  did  I  tell  you?" 

Rosa  was  in  delightful  confusion  at  O'Reilly's  evident 
surprise  and  admiration.  "Then  I'm  not  so  altogether 
changed?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  you  haven't  changed  at  all,  except  to  grow  more 
beautiful.  Evangelina  is  right;  you  are  too  beautiful  to 
look  at.  But  wait!"  He  drew  her  aside  and  whispered, 
"I've  been  down  in  the  well."  Some  tremor  in  his  voice, 
some  glint  in  his  eyes,  caused  the  girl  to  seize  him  eagerly, 
fiercely.  "I  may  be  wrong,"  he  said,  hurriedly;  "there 
may  be  nothing  in  it — and  yet  I  saw  something." 

"What?" 

"Wooden  beams,  timbers  of  some  sort,  behind  the  stone 
curbing."  It  was  plain  Rosa  did  not  comprehend,  so  he 
hurried  on.  "At  first  I  noticed  nothing  unusual,  except 
that  the  bottom  of  the  well  is  nearly  dry — filled  up,  you 
know,  with  debris  and  stuff  that  has  fallen  in  from 
the  curbing  above,  then  I  saw  that  although  the  well 
is  dug  through  rock,  nevertheless  it  is  entirely  curbed 
up  with  stones  laid  in  mortar.  That  struck  me  as 
queer." 

"Yes?" 

"I  noticed,  too,  in  one  place  that  there  was  wood  be 
hind — as  if  timbers  had  been  placed  there  to  cover  the 
entrance  to  a  cave.  You  know  this  Cuban  rock  is  full  of 
caverns." 

307 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Rosa  clasped  her  hands,  she  began  to  tremble.  "You 
have  found  it,  O'Reilly.  You  have!"  she  whispered. 

"No,  no,  I've  found  nothing  yet.  But  I've  sent 
Jacket  for  a  pick  or  a  bar  and  to-night  I'm  going  to  pull 
down  those  stones  and  see  what  is  behind  them." 

"To-night  ?    You  must  let  me  go,  too.     I  want  to  help." 

"Very  well.  But  meanwhile  you  mustn't  let  youi 
hopes  rise  too  high,  for  there  is  every  chance  that  you  will 
be  disappointed.  And  don't  mention  it  to  Evangelina. 
Now  then,  I've  a  few  pennies  left  and  I'm  going  to  buy 
some  candles." 

Rosa  embraced  her  lover  impulsively.  "Something 
tells  me  it  is  true!  Something  tells  me  you  are  going  to 
save  us  all." 

Evangelina  in  the  far  corner  of  the  hut  muttered  to  her 
husband:  "Such  love-birds!  They  are  like  parrakeets, 
forever  kissing  and  cooing!" 

Jacket  returned  at  dusk  and  with  him  he  brought  a 
rusty  three-foot  iron  bar,  evidently  part  of  a  window 
grating.  The  boy  was  tired,  disgusted,  and  in  a  vile 
temper.  "A  pick-ax!  A  crowbar!"  He  cursed  elo 
quently.  "  One  might  as  well  try  to  steal  a  cannon  out  of 
San  Severino.  I'm  ready  to  do  anything  within  reason, 
but—" 

"Why,  this  will  do  nicely;  it  is  just  what  I  want," 
O'Reilly  told  him. 

"Humph!  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  for  that  rod  was  nearly 
the  death  of  me.  I  broke  my  back  wrenching  at  it  and 
the  villain  who  owned  the  house — may  a  bad  lightning 
split  him! — he  ran  after  me  until  I  nearly  expired.  If  my 
new  knife  had  been  sharp  I  would  have  turned  and  sent 
him  home  with  it  between  his  ribs.  To-morrow  I  shall 
put  an  edge  on  it.  Believe  me,  I  ran  until  my  lungs 
burst." 

Little  food  remained  in  the  hut,  barely  enough  for 
Asensio  and  the  women,  and  inasmuch  as  O'Reilly  had 

308 


THE   HAUNTED   GARDEN 

spent  his  last  centavo  for  candles  he  and  Jacket  were 
forced  to  go  hungry  again.  Late  that  evening,  after  the 
wretched  prison  quarters  had  grown  quiet,  the  three 
treasure-hunters  stole  out  of  their  hovel  and  wound  up  the 
hill.  In  spite  of  their  excitement  they  went  slowly,  for 
none  of  them  had  the  strength  to  hurry.  Fortunately, 
there  were  few  prowlers  within  the  lines,  hunger  having 
robbed  the  reconcentrados  of  the  spirit  to  venture  forth, 
and  in  consequence  Spanish  vigilance  had  relaxed;  it 
was  now  confined  to  the  far-flung  girdle  of  intrenchments 
which  encircled  the  city.  The  trio  encountered  no  one. 

Leaving  Jacket  on  guard  at  the  crest  of  the  hill,  O'Reilly 
stationed  Rosa  at  the  mouth  of  the  well,  then  lowered  him 
self  once  more  into  it.  Lighting  his  candle,  he  made  a 
careful  examination  of  the  place,  with  the  result  that 
Este"ban's  theory  of  the  missing  riches  seemed  even  less 
improbable  than  it  had  earlier  in  the  day.  The  masonry- 
work,  he  discovered,  had  been  done  with  a  painstaking 
thoroughness  which  spoke  of  the  abundance  of  slave  labor, 
and  time  had  barely  begun  to  affect  it.  Here  and  there 
a  piece  of  the  mortar  had  loosened  and  come  away,  but 
for  the  most  part  it  stood  as  solid  as  the  stones  between 
which  it  was  laid.  Shoulder-high  to  O'Reilly  there  ap 
peared  to  be  a  section  of  the  curbing  less  smoothly  fitted 
than  the  rest,  and  through  an  interstice  in  this  he  detected 
what  seemed  to  be  a  damp  wooden  beam.  At  this  point 
he  brought  his  iron  bar  into  play. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  discovered  that  his  work  was 
cut  out  for  him.  The  cement  was  like  flint  and  his 
blunt  makeshift  implement  was  almost  useless  against  it. 
Ankle-deep  in  the  muddy  water,  he  patiently  pecked  and 
pounded  and  chipped,  endeavoring  to  enlarge  the  crevice 
so  as  to  use  his  bar  as  a  lever.  The  sweat  streamed  from 
him  and  he  became  dismayed  at  his  own  weakness. 
He  was  forced  to  rest  frequently. 

Rosa  hung  over  the  orifice  above,  encouraging  him,  in- 

3<>9 


RAINBOW'S    END 

quiring  eagerly  as  to  his  progress.  During  his  frequent 
breathing-spells  he  could  discern  her  white  face  dimly 
illumined  by  the  candle-light  from  below. 

After  he  had  worked  for  an  hour  or  two,  he  made  a 
report:  "It  begins  to  look  as  if  there  really  was  a  bulk 
head  or  a  door  in  there." 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  with  delight. 
"Do  hurry,  dear;  I'm  dying  of  suspense." 

O'Reilly  groaned:  "That  fellow,  Sebastian,  knew  his 
business.  This  cement  is  like  steel,  and  I'm  afraid  of 
breaking  my  crowbar." 

Rosa  found  a  leaf,  folded  a  kiss  into  it,  and  dropped  it 
to  him.  "  That  will  give  you  strength,"  she  declared. 

O'Reilly  lost  all  count  of  time  after  a  while  and  he  was 
incredulous  when  Jacket  came  to  warn  him  that  daylight 
was  less  than  an  hour  away.  "Why,  I  haven't  started!" 
he  protested.  He  discovered,  much  to  his  surprise,  that 
he  was  ready  to  drop  from  fatigue  and  that  his  hands  were 
torn  and  blistered;  when  he  had  climbed  the  rope  to  the 
upper  air  he  fell  exhausted  in  the  deep  grass.  "I — I'm 
not  myself  at  all,"  he  apologized;  "nothing  to  eat,  you 
know.  But  the  work  will  go  faster  now,  for  I've  made  a 
beginning." 

"Do  you  still  think — "  Rosa  hesitated  to  voice  the 
question  which  trembled  on  her  lips. 

"I'll  know  for  sure  to-night."  He  directed  Jacket  to 
replace  the  planks  over  the  well;  then  the  three  of  them 
stole  away. 

O'Reilly  spent  most  of  that  day  in  a  profound  stupor  of 
exhaustion,  while  Rosa  watched  anxiously  over  him. 
Jacket,  it  seemed,  had  peacefully  slumbered  on  picket 
duty,  so  he  occupied  himself  by  grinding  away  at  his  knife. 
The  last  scraps  of  food  disappeared  that  evening. 

When  night  fell  and  it  came  time  to  return  to  the  top 
of  La  Cumbre,  O'Reilly  asked  himself  if  his  strength  would 
prove  sufficient  for  the  task  in  hand.  He  was  spiritless, 

310 


THE    HAUNTED   GARDEN 

sore,  weak;  he  ached  in  every  bone  and  muscle,  and  it  re 
quired  all  his  determination  to  propel  himself  up  the  hill. 
He  wondered  if  he  were  wise  thus  to  sacrifice  his  waning 
energies  on  a  hope  so  forlorn  as  this,  but  by  now  he  had 
begun  to  more  than  half  believe  in  the  existence  of  the 
Varona  treasure  and  he  felt  an  almost  irresistible  curiosity 
to  learn  what  secret,  if  any,  was  concealed  behind  those 
water-soaked  timbers  at  the  bottom  of  the  well.  He 
realized,  of  course,  that  every  hour  he  remained  here,  now 
that  food  and  money  were  gone,  lessened  the  chances  of 
escape;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  reasoned,  with  equal 
force,  that  if  he  had  indeed  stumbled  upon  the  missing 
hoard  salvation  for  all  of  them  was  assured.  The  stake, 
it  seemed  to  him,  was  worth  the  hazard. 

Given  tempered  tools  to  work  with,  it  would  have  been 
no  great  undertaking  to  tear  down  that  cemented  wall  of 
stones,  but,  armed  with  nothing  except  his  bare  hands  and 
that  soft  iron  bar,  O'Reilly  spent  nearly  the  whole  night 
at  his  task.  Long  before  the  last  rock  had  yielded,  how 
ever,  he  beheld  that  which  caused  him  to  turn  a  strained 
face  upward  to  Rosa. 

"There's  a  little  door,  as  sure  as  you  live,"  he  told  her. 

The  girl  was  beside  herself  with  excitement.  "Yes? 
What  else?  What  more  do  you  see?" 

"  Nothing.  It  appears  to  be  made  of  solid  timbers,  and 
has  two  huge  hand-wrought  locks." 

"Locks!  Then  we  have  found  it."  Rosa  closed  her 
eyes;  she  swayed  momentarily.  "Este"ban  was  right. 
Locks,  indeed!  That  means  something  to  hide.  Oh,  if  I 
could  only  help  you." 

"God!  If  I  only  had  something — anything  to  work 
with!"  muttered  the  American  as  he  fell  to  with  redoubled 
energy.  He  no  longer  tried  to  conserve  his  strength,  for 
the  treasure-seeker's  lust  beset  him.  Rosa  looked  on, 
wringing  her  hands  and  urging  him  to  greater  haste. 

But  the  low,  thick  door  was  built  of  some  hard,  native 

3" 


RAINBOW'S    END 

wood:  it  was  wet  and  tough  and  slippery.  O'Reilly's 
blows  made  no  impression  upon  it,  nor  upon  the  heavy 
hasps  and  staples  with  which  it  was  secured  in  place. 
The  latter  were  deeply  rusted,  to  be  sure,  but  they  with 
stood  his  efforts,  and  he  was  finally  forced  to  rest, 
baffled,  enraged,  half  hysterical  from  weakness  and 
fatigue. 

Daylight  was  at  hand  once  more,  but  he  refused  to  give 
up,  and  worked  on  stubbornly,  furiously,  until  Rosa,  in  an 
agony,  besought  him  to  desist. 

Johnnie  again  collapsed  on  the  grass  and  lay  panting 
while  the  other  two  replaced  the  planks. 

"Another  hour  and  I'd  have  been  into  it."  he  declared, 
huskily. 

"You  will  skill  yourself,"  Jacket  told  him. 

Rosa  bent  over  him  with  shining  eyes  and  parted  lips. 
"Yes,"  said  she.  "Be  patient.  We  will  come  back, 
O'Reilly,  and  to-night  we  shall  be  rich." 

Colonel  Cobo  lit  a  black  cigarette,  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  exhaled  two  fierce  jets  of  smoke  through  his 
nostrils.  For  a  full  moment  he  scowled  forbiddingly  at  the 
sergeant  who  had  asked  to  see  him. 

"What's  this  you  are  telling  me?"  he  inquired,  finally. 

The  sergeant,  a  mean-faced,  low-browed  man,  stirred 
uneasily. 

"It  is  God's  truth.  There  are  spirits  on  La  Cumbre, 
and  I  wish  to  see  the  priest  about  it." 

"Spirits?    What  kind  of  spirits?" 

The  fellow  shrugged.  "Evil  spirits — spirits  from  hell. 
The  men  are  buying  charms." 

"Bah!    I  took  you  to  be  a  sensible  person." 

"You  don't  believe  me?  Well,  I  didn't  believe  them 
when  they  told  me  about  it.  But  I  saw  with  my  own 
eyes." 

Cobo  leaned  forward,  mildly  astonished.     Of  all  his 


THE    HAUNTED   GARDEN 

villainous  troop,  this  man  was  the  last  one  he  had  credited 
with  imagination  of  this  sort.  "What  did  you  see?" 

"A  ghost,  my  Colonel,  nothing  else.  La  Cumbre  is  no 
place  for  an  honest  Christian." 

The  colonel  burst  into  a  mocking  laugh.  "An  honest 
Christian!  You!  Of  all  my  vile  ruffians,  you  are  the 
vilest.  Why,  you're  a  thief,  a  liar,  and  an  assassin !  You 
are  lying  to  me  now.  Come — the  truth  for  once,  before  I 
give  you  the  componte." 

"As  God  is  my  judge,  I'm  telling  you  the  truth,"  pro 
tested  the  soldier.  "Flog  me  if  you  will — rather  the 
componte  than  another  night  in  those  trenches.  You 
know  that  old  quinta?" 

"Where  Pancho  Cueto  made  a  goat  of  himself?  Per 
fectly.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  saw  old  Este"ban 
Varona  walking  with  his  head  in  his  hands?" 

"No,  but  I  saw  that  she-devil  who  fell  in  the  well  and 
broke  her  neck." 

"Eh?    When  did  you  behold  this— this  marvel?" 

"Two  nights  ago.  She  was  there  beside  the  well  and 
her  face  shone  through  the  night  like  a  lantern.  Christ ! 
There  was  fire  upon  it.  She  came  and  went,  like  a  moth  in 
the  lamplight.  I  tell  you  I  repented  of  my  sins.  Some  of 
the  men  laughed  at  me  when  I  told  them,  as  they  had 
laughed  at  the  others.  But  last  night  two  of  the  doubters 
went  up  there." 

"Exactly.     And  they  saw  nothing." 

"Your  pardon,  my  Colonel.  They  came  back  in  a  cold 
sweat,  and  they  spent  the  night  on  their  knees.  The 
woman  was  there  again.  You  have  seen  the  salt  sea  at 
night?  Well,  her  face  was  aglow,  like  that,  so  they  said. 
They  heard  the  clanking  of  chains,  too,  and  the  sound  of 
hammers,  coming  from  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth.  It 
is  all  plain  enough,  when  you  know  the  story.  But  it  is 
terrifying." 

"This  is  indeed  amazing,"  Cobo  acknowledged,  "but 
21  i 


RAINBOW'S    END 

of  course  there  is  some  simple  explanation.  Spirits,  if 
indeed  there  are  such  things,  are  made  of  nothing — they 
are  like  thin  air.  How,  then,  could  they  rattle  chains? 
You  probably  saw  some  wretched  pacificos  in  search  of 
food  and  imagined  the  rest." 

"Indeed!  Then  what  did  I  hear  with  these  very  ears? 
Whispers,  murmurs,  groans,  and  the  clinkety-clink  of  old 
Sebastian's  chisel.  For  his  sins  that  old  slave  is  chained 
in  some  cavern  of  the  mountain.  Soundless!  I'm  no 
baby!  I  know  when  I'm  asleep,  and  I  know  when  I'm 
awake.  That  place  is  accursed,  and  I  want  no  more  of  it." 

Cobo  fell  into  frowning  meditation,  allowing  his  cigarette 
to  smolder  down  until  it  burned  his  thick  fingers.  He  was 
not  a  superstitious  man  and  he  put  no  faith  in  the  super 
natural,  nevertheless  he  was  convinced  that  his  sergeant 
was  not  lying,  and  reference  to  Pancho  Cueto  had  set  his 
mind  to  working  along  strange  channels.  He  had  known 
Cueto  well,  and  the  latter's  stubborn  belief  in  the  existence 
of  that  Varona  treasure  had  more  than  once  impressed 
him.  He  wondered  now  if  others  shared  that  faith,  or  if 
by  chance  they  had  discovered  a  clue  to  the  whereabouts 
of  the  money  and  were  conducting  a  secret  search.  It 
was  a  fantastic  idea,  nevertheless  Cobo  told  himself  that 
if  people  were  prying  about  those  deserted  premises  it  was 
with  some  object,  and  their  actions  would  warrant  obser 
vation.  The  presence  of  the  woman — a  woman — with  the 
glow  of  phosphorus  upon  her  face  was  puzzling,  but  the 
whole  affair  was  puzzling.  He  determined  to  investigate. 
After  a  time  he  murmured,  "  I  should  like  to  see  this  spirit." 

The  sergeant  shrugged.  It  was  plain  from  his  expres 
sion  that  he  could  not  account  for  such  a  desire.  "An 
other  night  is  coming,"  said  he. 

"Good!  I  shall  visit  the  place,  and  if  I  see  anything 
unusual  I — well,  I  shall  believe  what  you  have  told  me. 
•  Meanwhile,  go  see  your  priest  by  all  means.  It  will  do 
you  no  harm." 


XXVI 

HOW   COBO    STOOD   ON  HIS   HEAD 

AX  that  day,  or  during  most  of  it,  at  least,  Rosa  and 
O'Reilly  sat  hand  in  hand,  oblivious  of  hunger  and 
fatigue,  impatient  for  the  coming  of  night,  keyed  to  the 
highest  tension.  Now  they  would  rejoice  hysterically, 
assuring  each  other  of  their  good  fortune,  again  they 
would  grow  sick  with  the  fear  of  disappointment.  Time 
after  time  they  stepped  out  of  the  hut  and  stared  appre 
hensively  up  the  slopes  of  La  Cumbre  to  assure  themselves 
that  this  was  not  all  a  part  of  some  fantastic  illusion; 
over  and  over,  in  minutest  detail,  Johnnie  described  what 
he  had  seen  at  the  bottom  of  the  well.  He  tried  more  than 
once  during  the  afternoon  to  sleep,  but  he  could  not,  for 
the  moment  he  closed  his  eyes  he  found  himself  back  there 
in  that  pit  upon  the  ridge's  crest,  straining  at  those  stub 
born  rocks  and  slippery  timbers.  This  inaction  was  mad 
dening,  his  fatigue  rendered  him  feverish  and  irritable. 

Jacket,  too,  felt  the  strain,  and  after  several  fruitless 
attempts  to  sleep  he  rose  and  went  out  into  the  sunshine, 
where  he  fell  to  whetting  his  knife.  He  finished  putting 
a  double  edge  upon  the  blade,  fitted  a  handle  to  it,  and 
then  a  cord  with  which  to  suspend  it  round  his  neck. 
He  showed  it  to  O'Reilly,  and  after  receiving  a  word  of 
praise  he  crept  out-doors  again  and  tried  to  forget  how 
sick  he  was.  Black  spots  were  dancing  before  Jacket's 
eyes;  he  experienced  spells  of  dizziness  and  nausea  during 
which  he  dared  not  attempt  to  walk.  He  knew  this  must 
be  the  result  of  starvation,  and  yet,  strangely  enough,  the 


RAINBOW'S    END 

thought  of  food  was  distasteful  to  him.  He  devoutly 
wished  it  were  not  necessary  to  climb  that  hill  again,  for 
he  feared  he  would  not  have  the  strength  to  descend  it. 

Luckily  for  the  sake  of  the  secret,  Evangelina  spent 
most  of  the  day  searching  for  food,  while  Asensio  lay 
babbling  upon  his  bed,  too  ill  to  notice  the  peculiar  ac 
tions  of  his  companions. 

It  was  with  a  strange,  nightmare  feeling  of  unreality 
that  the  trio  dragged  themselves  upward  to  the  ruined 
quinta  when  darkness  finally  came.  They  no  longer 
talked,  for  conversation  was  a  drain  upon  their  powers, 
and  the  reaction  from  the  day's  excitement  had  set  in. 
O'Reilly  lurched  as  he  walked,  his  limbs  were  heavy,  and 
his  liveliest  sensation  was  one  of  dread  at  the  hard  work 
in  store  for  him.  The  forcing  of  that  door  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  Herculean  task. 

But  once  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  and  beheld 
the  handiwork  of  Sebastian,  the  slave,  Just  as  he  had  left 
it,  his  sense  of  reality  returned  and  with  it  a  certain 
measure  of  determination.  Inasmuch  as  he  had  made  no 
visible  impression  upon  the  bulkhead  by  his  direct  attack, 
he  changed  his  tactics  now  and  undertook  to  loosen  one 
of  the  jambs  where  it  was  wedged  into  the  rock  at  top 
and  bottom.  After  a  desperate  struggle  he  succeeded  in 
loosening  the  entire  structure  so  that  he  could  pry  it  out 
far  enough  to  squeeze  his  body  through. 

"I  have  it!"  he  cried  to  Rosa.  Seizing  the  candle,  he 
thrust  it  into  the  opening.  He  beheld  what  he  had  ex 
pected  to  find,  a  small  cavern  or  grotto  which  had  evi 
dently  been  pierced  during  the  digging  of  the  well.  He 
could  appreciate  now  how  simple  had  been  the  task  of 
sealing  it  up  so  as  to  bafifle  discovery.  Rosa,  poised  above 
him,  scarcely  breathed  until  he  straightened  himself  and 
turned  his  face  upward  once  more. 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  voiced  nothing  more  than  a  hoarse 
croak;  the  candle  in  his  hand  described  erratic  figures. 

316 


HOW  COBO  STOOD  ON  HIS  HEAD 

"What  do  you  see?"  the  girl  cried  in  an  agony  of  sus 
pense. 

"I —    It's  here!    B-boxes,  chests,  casks — everything!" 

"God  be  praised!    My  father's  fortune  at  last!" 

Rosa  forgot  her  surroundings;  she  beat  her  hands  to 
gether,  calling  upon  O'Reilly  to  make  haste  and  determine 
beyond  all  question  that  the  missing  hoard  was  indeed 
theirs.  She  drew  perilously  close  to  the  well  and  knelt 
over  it  like  some  priestess  at  her  devotions;  her  eyes 
were  brimming  with  tears  and  there  was  a  roaring  in  her 
ears.  It  was  not  strange  that  she  failed  to  see  or  to  hear 
the  approach  of  a  great  blurred  figure  which  materialized 
out  of  the  night  and  took  station  scarcely  an  arm's- 
length  behind  her. 

"He  intended  it  for  his  children,"  she  sobbed,  "and 
Providence  saved  it  from  our  wicked  enemies.  It  was 
the  hand  of  God  that  led  us  here,  O'Reilly.  Tell  me,  what 
do  you  see  now?" 

Johnnie  had  wormed  his  way  into  the  damp  chamber  and 
a  slim  rectangle  of  light  was  projected  against  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  well.  Rosa  could  hear  him  talking  and 
moving  about. 

Don  Esteban  Varona's  subterranean  hiding-place  was 
large  enough  to  store  a  treasure  far  greater  than  his;  it 
was  perhaps  ten  feet  in  length,  with  a  roof  high  enough  to 
accommodate  a  tall  man.  At  the  farther  end  were  ranged 
several  small  wooden  chests  bound  with  iron  and  fitted 
with  hasps  and  staples,  along  one  side  was  a  row  of 
diminutive  casks,  the  sort  used  to  contain  choice  wines  or 
liquors;  over  all  was  a  thick  covering  of  slime  and  mold. 
The  iron  was  deeply  rusted  and  the  place  itself  smelled 
abominably  stale. 

O'Reilly  surveyed  this  Aladdin's  cave  in  a  daze.  He 
set  his  candle  down,  for  his  fingers  were  numb  and  un 
steady.  Cautiously,  as  if  fearful  of  breaking  some  spell, 
he  stooped  and  tried  to  move  one  of  the  casks,  but  found 


RAINBOW'S    END 

that  it  resisted  him  as  if  cemented  to  the  rock.  He 
noted  that  its  head  was  bulged  upward,  as  if  by  the  damp 
ness,  so  he  took  his  iron  bar  and  aimed  a  sharp  blow  at 
the  chine.  A  hoop  gave  way;  another  blow  enabled  him 
to  pry  out  the  head  of  the  cask.  He  stood  blinking  at  the 
sight  exposed,  for  the  little  barrel  was  full  of  coins — 
yellow  coins,  large  and  small.  O'Reilly  seized  a  handful 
and  held  them  close  to  the  candle-flame;  among  the  num 
ber  he  noted  a  Spanish  doubloon,  such  as  young  Este"ban 
had  found. 

He  tested  the  weight  of  the  other  casks  and  found  them 
equally  heavy.  Knowing  little  about  gold,  he  did  not 
attempt  to  estimate  the  value  of  their  contents,  but  he 
judged  they  must  represent  a  fortune.  With  throbbing 
pulses  he  next  lifted  the  lid  of  the  nearest  chest.  Within, 
he  discovered  several  compartments,  each  stored  with 
neatly  wrapped  and  labeled  packages  of  varying  shapes 
and  sizes.  The  writing  upon  the  tags  was  almost  il 
legible,  but  the  first  article  which  O'Reilly  unwrapped 
proved  to  be  a  goblet  of  most  beautiful  workmanship. 
Time  had  long  since  blackened  it  to  the  appearance  of 
pewter  or  some  base  metal,  but  he  saw  that  it  was  of  solid 
silver.  Evidently  he  had  uncovered  a  store  of  old  Spanish 
plate. 

In  one  corner  of  the  chest  he  saw  a  metal  box  of  the  sort 
in  which  valuable  papers  are  kept,  and  after  some  effort 
he  managed  to  break  it  open.  Turning  back  the  lid,  he 
found  first  a  bundle  of  documents  bearing  imposing 
scrolls  and  heavy  seals.  Despite  the  dampness,  they  were 
in  fairly  good  condition,  and  there  was  enough  left  of  the 
writing  to  identify  them  beyond  all  question  as  the 
missing  deeds  of  patent  to  the  Varona  lands — those 
crown  grants  for  which  Dona  Isabel  had  searched  so 
fruitlessly.  But  this  was  not  all  that  the  smaller  box 
contained.  Beneath  the  papers  there  were  numerous 
leather  bags.  These  had  rotted;  they  came  apart 


HOW  COBO  STOOD  ON  HIS  HEAD 

easily  in  O'Reilly's  fingers,  displaying  a  miscellaneous 
assortment  of  unset  gems — some  of  them  at  first  sight 
looked  like  drops  of  blood,  others  like  drops  of  purest 
water.  They  were  the  rubies  and  the  diamonds  which 
had  brought  Isabel  to  her  death. 

O'Reilly  waited  to  see  no  more.  Candle  in  hand,  he 
crept  out  into  the  well  to  apprise  Rosa  of  the  truth. 

"We've  got  it!  There's  gold  by  the  barrel  and  the 
deeds  to  your  land.  Yes,  and  the  jewels,  too — a  quart  of 
them,  I  guess.  I — I  can't  believe  my  eyes."  He  showed 
her  a  handful  of  coins.  "Look  at  that!  Doubloons, 
eagles!  There  appear  to  be  thousands  of  them.  Why, 
you're  the  richest  girl  in  Cuba.  Rubies,  diamonds — yes, 
and  pearls,  too,  I  dare  say — "  He  choked  and  began  to 
laugh  weakly,  hysterically. 

"I've  heard  about  those  pearls,"  Rosa  cried,  shrilly. 
"Pearls  from  the  Caribbean,  as  large  as  plums.  Isabel 
used  to  babble  about  them  in  her  sleep." 

"I  found  those  deeds  the  first  thing.  The  plantations 
are  yours  now,  beyond  any  question." 

Rosa  drew  back  from  her  precarious  position,  for  she  had 
grown  limp  from  weakness  and  her  head  was  whirling. 
As  she  rose  to  her  feet  she  brushed  something,  somebody, 
some  flesh-and-blood  form  which  was  standing  almost 
over  her.  Involuntarily  she  recoiled,  toppling  upon  the 
very  brink  of  the  pit,  whereupon  a  heavy  hand  reached 
forth  and  seized  her.  She  found  herself  staring  upward 
into  a  face  she  had  grown  to  know  in  her  nightmares,  a 
face  the  mere  memory  of  which  was  enough  to  freeze  her 
blood.  It  was  a  hideous  visage,  thick-lipped,  flat-featured, 
black;  it  was  disfigured  by  a  scar  from  lip  to  temple  and 
out  of  it  gleamed  a  pair  of  eyes  distended  and  ringed  with 
white,  like  the  eyes  of  a  man  insane. 

For  an  instant  Rosa  made  no  sound  and  no  effort  to 
escape.  The  apparition  robbed  her  of  breath,  it  paralyzed 
her  in  both  mind  and  body.  Her  first  thought  was  that 


RAINBOW'S    END 

she  had  gone  stark  mad,  but  she  had  felt  Cobo's  hands 
upon  her  once  before  and  after  her  first  frozen  moment 
of  amazement  she  realized  that  she  was  in  her  fullest 
senses.  A  shriek  sprang  to  her  lips,  she  tried  to  fight  the 
man  off,  but  her  weak  struggle  was  like  the  fluttering  of  a 
bird.  Cobo  crushed  her  down,  strangling  the  half- 
uttered  cry. 

Terror  may  be  so  intense,  so  appalling  as  to  be  unen 
durable.  In  Rosa's  case  a  merciful  oblivion  overtook 
her.  She  felt  the  world  grow  black,  fall  away;  felt  her 
self  swing  dizzily  through  space. 

O'Reilly  looked  upward,  inquiring,  sharply,  "What's 
the  matter?"  He  heard  a  scuffling  of  feet  above  him,  but 
received  no  answer.  "Rosa!  What  frightened  you? 
Rosa?"  There  was  a  moment  of  sickening  suspense,  then 
he  put  his  shoulder  to  the  timbers  he  had  displaced  and, 
with  a  violent  shove,  succeeded  in  swinging  them  back 
into  place.  Laying  hold  of  the  rope,  he  began  to  hoist 
himself  upward.  He  had  gone  but  a  little  way,  however, 
when,  without  warning,  his  support  gave  way  and  he 
fell  backward;  the  rope  came  pouring  down  upon  him. 
"ROSA!"  he  called  again  in  a  voice  thick  from  fright. 
Followed  an  instant  of  silence;  then  he  flattened  himself 
against  the  side  of  the  well  and  the  breath  stuck  in  his 
throat. 

Into  the  dim  circle  of  radiance  above  a  head  was  thrust 
— a  head,  a  pair  of  wide  shoulders,  and  then  two  arms. 
The  figure  bent  closer,  and  O'Reilly  recognized  the 
swarthy  features  of  that  man  he  had  seen  at  the  Matanzas 
railroad  station.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it — it  was 
Cobo. 

The  men  stared  at  each  other  silently,  and  of  the  two 
Cobo  appeared  to  be  the  more  intensely  agitated.  After 
a  moment  his  gaze  fixed  itself  upon  the  opening  into  the 
treasure-chamber  and  remained  there.  As  if  to  make 
entirely  sure  of  what  he  had  overheard,  he  stretched 

320 


HOW  COBO  STOOD  ON  HIS  HEAD 

his  body  farther,  supporting  it  by  his  outflung  arms, 
then  moved  his  head  from  side  to  side  for  a  better  view. 
He  seemed  to  rock  over  the  mouth  of  the  well  like  a  huge, 
fat,  black  spider.  He  was  the  first  to  speak. 

' '  Am  I  dreaming  ?  Or — have  you  really  discovered  that 
treasure?"  he  queried. 

O'Reilly's  upturned  face  was  ghastly.  He  wet  his  lips. 
He  managed  to  whisper  Rosa's  name. 

"The  riches  of  the  Varonas!  Christ!  What  a  find!" 
Cobo's  teeth  shone  white  in  the  grin  of  avarice.  "Yes,  I 
see  now — a  cavern  in  the  rock.  Well,  well !  And  you  are 
the  spirit  of  Sebastian,  chained  in  the  bowels  of  La 
Cumbre.  Ha!  These  are  the  ghosts — "  He  began  to 
chuckle,  but  the  sound  of  his  malevolent  merriment  was 
like  the  hiccoughing  of  a  drunken  man. 

"Rosa!    What  have  you  done — " 

Cobo  ran  on  unheeding:  "It  must  be  a  great  treasure, 
indeed,  from  all  accounts — the  ransom  of  a  dozen  kings. 
That's  what  Cueto  said,  'The  ransom  of  a  dozen  kings!' 
Those  were  his  very  words." 

The  fellow  continued  to  sway  himself  back  and  forth, 
peering  as  if  his  eyes  were  about  to  leave  his  head.  For  a 
long  moment  or  two  he  utterly  disregarded  O'Reilly,  but 
finally  as  he  gained  more  self-control  his  gaze  shifted  and 
his  expression  altered.  He  changed  his  weight  to  his  left 
arm  and  with  his  right  hand  he  drew  his  revolver. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  O'Reilly  cried,  hoarsely. 

The  colonel  seemed  vaguely  surprised  at  this  question. 
"Fool!  Do  you  expect  me  to  share  it  with  you?"  he 
inquired. 

' '  Wait !  There's  enough— for  all  of  us, ' '  O'Reilly  feebly 
protested;  then,  as  he  heard  the  click  of  the  cocked 
weapon:  "Let  me  out.  I'll  pay  you  well — make  you 
rich."  In  desperation  he  raised  his  shaking  hand  to  dash 
out  the  candle,  but  even  as  he  did  so  the  colonel  spoke, 
at  the  same  time  carefully  lowering  the  revolver  hammer. 

321 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"You  are  right.  What  am  I  thinking  about?  There 
must  be  no  noise.  Caraniba!  A  pretty  business  that 
would  be,  wouldn't  it?  With  my  men  running  up  here 
to  see  what  it  was  all  about.  No,  no !  No  gunshots,  no 
disturbance  of  any  kind.  You  understand  what  I  mean, 
eh?" 

His  face  twisted  into  a  grin  as  he  tossed  the  revolver 
aside,  then  undertook  to  detach  a  stone  from  the 
crumbling  curb.  "No  noise!"  he  chuckled.  "No  noise 
whatever." 

O'Reilly,  stupefied  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  this 
monstrous  creature,  stunned  by  the  certainty  of  a  catas 
trophe  to  Rosa,  awoke  to  the  fact  that  this  man  intended 
to  brain  him  where  he  stood.  In  a  panic  he  cast  his  eyes 
about  him,  thinking  to  take  shelter  in  the  treasure-cave, 
but  that  retreat  was  closed  to  him,  for  he  had  wedged 
the  wooden  timbers  together  at  the  first  alarm.  He  was 
like  a  rat  in  a  pit,  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  this  maniac.  And 
Cobo  was  a  maniac  at  the  moment;  he  had  so  far  lost 
control  of  himself  as  to  allow  the  stone  to  slip  out  of  his 
grasp.  It  fell  with  a  thud  at  O'Reilly's  feet,  causing  the 
assassin  to  laugh  once  more. 

"Ho,  ho!"  he  hiccoughed.  "My  fingers  are  clumsy, 
eh?  But  there  is  no  need  for  haste."  He  stretched  out 
his  arm  again,  laid  hold  of  another  missile,  and  strained 
to  loosen  it  from  its  bed.  "Jewels!  Pearls  the  size  of 
plums!  And  I  a  poor  man!  I  can't  believe  it  yet."  He 
could  not  detach  the  stone,  so  he  fumbled  farther  along 
the  curbing.  "Pearls,  indeed!  I  would  send  a  dozen 
men  to  hell  for  one — " 

O'Reilly  had  been  standing  petrified,  his  body  forced 
tightly  against  the  rough  surface  behind  him,  following 
with  strained  fascination  the  deliberate  movements  of 
the  man  above  him;  now  he  saw  Cobo,  without  the  least 
apparent  reason,  twist  and  shudder,  saw  him  stiffen 
rigidly  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden  cramp,  saw  his  eyes 

322 


HOW  COBO  STOOD  ON  HIS  HEAD 

dilate  and  heard  him  heave  a  deep,  whistling  sigh.  O'Reilly 
could  not  imagine  what  ailed  the  fellow.  For  an  eternity, 
so  it  seemed,  Cobo  remained  leaning  upon  his  outspread 
arms,  fixed  in  that  same  attitude  of  paralysis — it  looked 
almost  as  if  he  had  been  startled  by  some  sound  close  by. 
But  manifestly  that  was  not  the  cause  of  his  hesitation,  for 
his  face  became  convulsed  and  an  expression  of  blank  and 
utter  astonishment  was  stamped  upon  it.  The  men 
stared  fixedly  at  each  other,  O'Reilly  with  his  head  thrown 
back,  Cobo  with  his  body  propped  rigidly  upon  wooden 
arms  and  that  peculiar  shocked  inquiry  in  his  glaring  eyes. 
But  slowly  this  expression  changed ;  the  colonel  bent  as  if 
beneath  a  great  weight,  his  head  rose  and  turned  back 
upon  his  neck,  he  filled  his  lungs  with  another  wheezing 
sigh.  "Christ!  O  Christ — "  he  whispered. 

His  teeth  ground  together,  his  head  began  to  wag  upon 
his  shoulders;  it  dropped  lower  and  lower;  one  hand 
slipped  from  its  hold  and  he  lurched  forward.  An  instant 
he  hung  suspended  from  the  waist;  then  he  appeared  to 
let  go  limply  as  all  resistance  went  out  of  his  big  body. 
There  came  a  warning  rattle  of  dirt  and  mortar  and  peb 
bles;  the  next  instant  he  slipped  into  the  well  and  plunged 
headlong  down  upon  O'Reilly,  an  avalanche  of  lifeless 
flesh. 

Johnnie  shielded  himself  with  his  upflung  arms,  but  he 
was  driven  to  his  knees,  and  when  he  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
half  stunned,  it  was  to  find  himself  in  utter  darkness. 
There  was  a  heavy  weight  against  his  legs.  With  a 
strength  born  of  horror  and  revulsion  he  freed  himself; 
then  hearing  no  sound  and  feeling  no  movement,  he 
fumbled  for  the  candle  and  with  clumsy  fingers  managed 
to  relight  it.  Even  after  the  flame  had  leaped  out  and  he 
saw  what  shared  the  pit  with  him  he  could  barely  credit 
his  senses.  The  nature  of  his  deliverance  was  uncanny, 
supernatural — it  left  him  dazed.  He  had  beheld  death 
stamped  upon  Cobo's  writhing  face  even  while  the  fellow 

323 


RAINBOW'S    END 

braced  himself  to  keep  from  falling,  but  what  force  had 
effected  the  phenomenon,  what  unseen  hand  had  stricken 
him,  Johnnie  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend.  It  seemed  a 
miracle,  indeed,  until  he  looked  closer.  Then  he  under 
stood.  Cobo  lay  in  a  formless,  boneless  heap;  he  seemed 
to  be  all  arms  and  legs;  his  face  was  hidden,  but  be 
tween  his  shoulders  there  protruded  the  crude  wooden 
handle  of  a  home-made  knife  to  which  a  loop  of  cord 
was  tied. 

O'Reilly  stared  stupidly  at  the  weapon;  then  he  raised 
his  eyes.  Peering  down  at  him  out  of  the  night  was 
another  face,  an  impertinent,  beardless,  youthful  face. 

He  uttered  Jacket's  name,  and  the  boy  answered  with  a 
smile.  "Bring  my  knife  with  you  when  you  come,"  the 
latter  directed. 

"You!"  The  American's  voice  was  weak  and  shaky. 
"I  thought — "  He  set  the  candle  down  and  covered  his 
eyes  momentarily. 

"That's  a  good  knife,  all  right,  and  sharp,  too.  The 
fellow  died  in  a  hurry,  eh?  Who  does  he  happen 
to  be?" 

"Don't  you  know?    It — it's  Cobo." 

"Cobo!  Coby,  the  baby-killer!"  Jacket  breathed  an 
oath.  "Oh,  that  blessed  knife!"  The  boy  craned  his 
small  body  forward  until  he  was  in  danger  of  following 
his  victim.  "Now  this  is  good  luck  indeed!  And  to 
think  that  he  died  just  like  any  other  man." 

"Rosa!  Where  is  she?"  O'Reilly  inquired  in  a  new 
agony  of  apprehension. 

"Oh,  she  is  here,"  Jacket  assured  him,  carelessly.  "I 
think  she  has  fainted.  Caramba!  Isn't  that  like  a  woman 
— to  miss  all  the  fun?  But,  compadre — that  was  a  blow 
for  Cuba  Libre;  what?  People  will  talk  about  me  when 
I'm  as  dead  as  that  pig.  'Narciso  Villar,  the  slayer  of 
Cobo' — that's  what  they'll  call  me."  Jacket  giggled 
hysterically.  "I — I  thought  he  would  jump  up  and  run 

324 


HOW  COBO  STOOD  ON  HIS  HEAD 

after  me,  so  I  fled,  but  he  tried  to  bury  himself,  didn't  he? 
His  flesh  was  like  butter,  O'Reilly." 

"Help  me  out,  quick!  Here,  catch  this  rope."  John 
nie  managed  to  fling  the  coil  within  reach  of  his  little 
friend  and  a  moment  later  he  had  hoisted  himself  from 
that  pit  of  tragedy. 


XXVII 

MORIN,   THE   FISHERMAN 

WHEN  Rosa  Varona  regained  consciousness  suf 
ficiently  to  understand  what  had  happened  she 
proved  herself  a  person  of  no  little  self-control.  She  went 
to  pieces  for  a  moment,  as  was  only  natural,  but  O'Reilly 
soon  succeeded  in  calming  her.  Nor  did  he  have  to  re 
mind  her  twice  that  this  was  no  time  for  weakness  or 
hysteria;  it  was  she,  in  fact,  who  first  voiced  the  fear  that 
Cobo  dead  was  scarcely  Jess  of  a  menace  than  Cobo  alive. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him?"  she  inquired. 

Jacket,  too,  appreciated  the  dangers  of  the  situation. 
"We  must  get  rid  of  him  quickly,"  said  he,  "for  his  men 
are  close  by;  he  will  be  missed  and  there  will  be  a  search." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  make  him  a  present  of  that  treasure," 
O'Reilly  said,  grimly.  "It  is  our  only  salvation." 

"But  how  are  we  going  to  hide  him?"  Jacket  inquired. 
"One  might  as  well  try  to  conceal  a  church;  oxen  couldn't 
hoist  him  out  of  that  hole." 

"Precisely!  He  has  made  our  work  easy  for  us.  We 
can't  take  more  than  a  small  part  of  the  money  with  us, 
anyhow;  the  rest  will  have  to  lie  here  until  the  war  is  over. 
Well !  We  shall  leave  Cobo  on  guard  over  what  remains !" 

Jacket  was  immensely  pleased  with  this  idea,  once  he  had 
grasped  it.  "What  could  be  better?"  he  cried.  "The 
man's  spirit  is  evil  enough  to  frighten  people  away  and  we 
will  drop  stones  upon  him,  so  that  he  can  learn  the  taste 
of  his  own  medicine.  It  suits  me  exactly  to  think  of 

326 


MORIN,    THE    FISHERMAN 

Colonel  Cobo  standing  on  his  head  in  a  hole  in  the  ground 
for  the  rest  of  eternity!" 

O'Reilly  was  by  this  time  suffering  the  full  reaction  from 
the  events  of  the  past  half-hour  and  he  was  nearer  ex 
haustion  than  he  dreamed,  but,  conquering  his  repugnance 
for  his  unescapable  task,  he  lowered  himself  once  more 
into  the  well.  His  arms  were  weak,  however,  and  his 
fingers  numb,  so  he  fell  rather  than  slid  the  length  of  the 
rope.  He  managed  to  open  the  door  of  the  treasure- 
chamber,  then  entered  and  loaded  his  pockets  with  gold. 
He  sent  up  the  jewel-box  at  the  end  of  the  rope,  dragged 
the  body  of  Cobo  into  the  cave,  then  wedged  the  barricade 
back  into  place.  It  required  the  combined  strength  of 
Rosa  and  Jacket  to  help  him  the  last  few  feet  of  his 
climb. 

"Now  fetch  stones,  rubbish,  anything — and  throw  it  in 
there,"  he  gasped. 

The  boy  and  the  girl  fell  to  with  a  will,  and  after  a  time 
Johnnie  joined  them.  Slowly,  laboriously,  the  three  of 
them  carried  debris  from  the  edge  of  the  quarry  and 
bricks  from  the  ruined  house;  they  scraped  up  armfuls  of 
leaves  and  trash — anything,  in  fact,  which  would  serve 
to  raise  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  and  conceal  the  entrance 
to  their  enemy's  resting-place.  It  was  slavish  work,  but 
O'Reilly  kept  them  at  it  until  they  were  ready  to  drop. 
Daylight  overtook  them  at  their  task. 

They  were  weak,  sick,  deadly  tired;  they  could  barely 
shuffle  a  few  yards  at  a  time  when  they  finally  reached 
Asensio's  hut;  nevertheless  there  was  hope  in  their  hearts, 
for  O'Reilly's  ragged  clothes  sagged  with  the  weight  of 
gold  pieces  and  the  little  metal  box  he  carried  was  heavy. 
Nor  were  they  greatly  concerned  about  the  safety  of  the 
treasure  they  had  left  behind,  for  the  entrance  to  the 
cavern  lay  deeply  buried,  and  Cobo,  the  guerrilla,  stood 
guard  over  the  chests  of  plate  and  the  casks  of  coin. 

Evangelina,  vastly  bewildered  at  the  sight  of  the  coin 

327 


RAINBOW'S    END 

which  was  forced  into  her  palm,  went  for  food  and  spent 
most  of  the  day  in  cooking  it.  The  treasure-hunters  al 
ternately  slept  and  ate.  It  was  not  until  well  along  tow 
ard  evening  that  Rosa  and  O'Reilly  felt  any  desire  to 
take  stock  of  the  contents  of  that  jewel-box,  but  finally, 
with  heads  together  and  with  backs  to  the  door  of  the 
bohio,  they  made  a  furtive  examination.  It  was  a  task 
that  held  them  spellbound,  for  there  were  loose  gems  of 
many  varieties,  some  well,  some  badly  cut;  there  were 
pieces  of  antique  Spanish  jewelry,  valuable  mainly  by 
virtue  of  their  antiquity,  clumsy  settings  of  silver  and 
gold  containing  dead,  uninteresting  stones;  others  of  the 
finest  and  most  delicate  workmanship.  Some  of  the 
pieces  were  like  glittering  cobwebs  enmeshing  sparks  of 
fire  and  drops  of  blood.  They  found  emeralds  and  sap 
phires  the  value  of  which  they  did  not  attempt  to  estimate ; 
and,  besides  these,  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  semi 
precious  stones.  There  was  a  fine  collection  of  opals 
of  every  size  and  color,  among  which  were  a  number  of 
huge  flat  black  ones,  indescribably  gorgeous  with  their 
ever-changing  peacock  hues.  But  finest  of  all  the  lot 
were  the  pearls.  Where  old  Don  Este'ban  had  secured 
these  latter  was  a  mystery,  for  he  had  not  been  a  widely 
traveled  man.  They  were  splendid,  unrivaled  in  size 
and  luster.  Some  had  the  iridescence  of  soap-bubbles, 
others  ranged  from  pink  to  deepest  chocolate  in  color. 
To  touch  them  was  like  sacrilege. 

O'Reilly  realized  vaguely  that  he  held  in  his  lap  a  for 
tune  greater  than  his  wildest  dreams  had  ever  compassed. 
These  were  the  jewels  of  a  rajah.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  this  ragged  girl  beside  him  was  a  regal  heiress,  the 
possessor  of  a  treasure  such  as  kings  might  envy.  After 
a  time  he  realized  that  the  mere  possession  of  these  gems 
constituted  a  new  and  overwhelming  menace. 

All  that  evening  he  and  Rosa  cowered  in  the  darkness, 
whispering  furtively,  their  nerves  on  edge,  their  senses 

328 


MORIN,   THE   FISHERMAN 

strained.     It  seemed  to  them  that  new  and  unsuspected 
perils  stalked  abroad  through  the  night. 

Morning  found  all  hands  more  nearly  rational  and 
feeling  the  first  gnawings  of  a  healthy  hunger.  Even 
Asensio  confessed  to  a  quite  miraculous  improvement. 
While  Evangelina  prepared  breakfast  the  lovers  agreed 
upon  a  story  to  explain  the  origin  of  that  mysterious  gold 
piece,  and  later  Johnnie  warned  Jacket  for  a  second  time 
to  keep  his  tongue  between  his  teeth. 

"We  will  have  to  be  doubly  careful  now,"  he  told  the 
boy.  "An  unguarded  word  or  an  incautious  move  would 
be  the  end  of  us." 

Jacket  nodded  his  complete  comprehension.  "Sure! 
All  Spaniards  are  robbers  and  they'd  kill  us  for  a  peso. 
Yes,  and  the  pacificos  are  no  better.  I  tell  you  we  need 
to  get  out  of  this  place." 

"  I  intend  to  arrange  it  at  once,  but — the  sight  of  those 
jewels  has  frightened  me.  If  we  are  searched — if  we  are 
even  suspected — " 

"Oh,  Rosa  wouldn't  have  any  more  use  for  her  pretty 
trinkets.  She'd  be  in  heaven  before  you  could  scratch 
your  nose." 

O'Reilly  frowned.  "She  isn't  at  all  strong  yet.  I'm 
wondering  if  she  can  endure  the  hardships  we'll  encounter 
when,  or  if,  we  get  away." 

"Exactly  what  I  was  thinking.  I've  been  considering 
another  plan." 

"Indeed?"  O'Reilly  scanned  the  face  of  his  young 
friend  with  interest.  He  was  beginning  to  have  a  high 
regard  for  Jacket's  capabilities,  and  the  boy's  exploit  of 
the  night  before  certainly  entitled  him  to  be  heard  upon 
any  subject. 

"  I  told  you  about  my  friend  at  the  market,"  the  latter 
continued.  "Well,  he  is  a  miserable  Spaniard,  but  he  has 
a  son  in  the  manigua." 

' '  One  of  us  ? "    Johnnie  was  surprised. 
22  329 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Yes.  The  old  fellow  owns  a  volandra  in  which  he 
brings  charcoal  from  the  eastward  twice  a  month." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence;  then  O'Reilly  said, 
slowly,  as  if  hesitating  even  to  voice  such  a  suggestion, 
"You  mean — he  might  take  us  out  of  here — on  his 
schooner?" 

"Who  knows?  He's  not  a  bad  old  fellow  and  he  likes 
me.  But  there  would  be  no  place  for  women." 

"How  well  does  he  like  you?" 

"Oh,  we  are  like  two  thieves." 

After  another  period  of  thought  O'Reilly  said,  "Take 
me  to  him,  and  remember  I'm  your  brother  Juan." 

The  Matanzas  market  did  not  present  a  scene  of  great 
activity  when  the  two  friends  slunk  into  it.  It  was  mid 
day,  and  what  food  had  earlier  been  offered  for  sale  had 
for  the  most  part  long  since  disappeared.  All  but  a  few 
of  the  stalls  were  empty,  and  a  number  of  emaciated 
reconcentrados  were  searching  listlessly  among  them  for 
neglected  scraps,  or  imploring  aid  from  such  marketmen 
as  still  lingered  about.  Like  most  Spanish  markets,  the 
building  was  far  from  clean  and  housed  odors  unpleasant 
even  to  starving  people.  In  the  smelliest  section,  at  one 
of  the  fish-stalls,  Jacket  accosted  a  villainous  old  brigand 
in  a  rough  Gallego  cap,  baggy  blouse  and  trousers,  and 
straw  sandals. 

"Good  day,  my  Captain,"  he  cried,  cheerily. 

The  Spaniard  raised  his  head,  scowled  ferociously,  then 
waved  a  long,  thin-bladed  knife  in  menacing  fashion. 

"Aha!  So  there  you  are,  robber!  Be  off  now  before  I 
slit  your  greedy  little  belly!"  He  spoke  in  an  angry, 
husky  voice.  When  Jacket  stood  his  ground  he  reached 
for  him  with  a  hand  upon  which  blood  and  fish-scales  had 
dried.  "Didn't  I  promise  to  give  you  to  the  soldiers  if 
you  came  back  to  bother  me?" 

Jacket  was  unabashed  by  this  hostile  reception.  He 
grinned  broadly  and  with  an  impudent  eye  he  scanned  the 

330 


MORIN,   THE    FISHERMAN 

empty  premises.  ' '  Where  is  my  little  fish  ? "  he  demanded. 
"As  I  live,  I  believe  you  have  sold  it!  God!  What  a 
miser!  For  the  sake  of  another  centavo  you  would  see 
me  starve?  There's  a  heart  for  you!" 

"Your  little  fish!"  roared  the  brigand,  clashing  his 
blade  on  the  filthy  counter.  ' '  No  shark  ever  stole  so  many 
fish  as  you.  Come,  I  shall  make  an  end  of  you,  and  have 
some  peace.  Starve?  You?  Bah!  Your  body  is  like  a 
gourd." 

' '  Yes,  and  quite  as  hollow.  I  starve  because  you  possess 
a  heart  of  stone.  One  little  fish,  no  longer  than  your 
finger.  Just  one?" 

' '  Not  so  much  as  a  fin !"  cried  the  man.  ' '  Can  I  feed  all 
the  rebels  in  Matanzas?" 

"One  little  fish,"  Jacket  wheedled,  "for  the  sake  of 
Miguelito,  who  is  bravely  fighting  in  the  manigua,  to  the 
shame  of  his  miserly  old  father,  fattening  on  the  groans  of 
good  patriots  like  me!  Must  I  remind  you  again  that 
Miguelito  was  my  brother?  That  I  have  robbed  my  own 
belly  in  order  to  give  him  food?" 

"Liar!" 

"It  is  true." 

"You  never  saw  him." 

"Miguel  Morin?  With  a  scar  on  his  neck?  The 
bravest  boy  in  all  the  Orient?  Ask  him  about  Narciso 
Villar.  Come,  give  me  my  fish !  Or  must  I  lie  down  and 
die  before  your  very  eyes  to  -prove  my  hunger?" 

"What  a  nuisance!"  grumbled  the  marketman.  He 
reached  into  a  basket  and  flung  a  mackerel  upon  the 
table.  "There!  I  saved  it  for  you,  and  sent  the  good 
women  of  Matanzas  away  empty-handed.  But  it  is  the 
very  last.  Annoy  me  again  and  I  shaD  open  you  with  my 
knife  and  put  salt  on  you." 

"Ah!  You  are  my  good  captain!"  Jacket  cried  in 
triumph,  possessing  himself  of  the  prize.  "Where  would 
I  have  been  but  for  you?"  Turning  to  O'Reilly,  who  had 

331 


RAINBOW'S    END 

looked  on  from  a  distance  at  this  artificial  quarrel,  he 
said,  "Captain  Morin,  this  is  that  brother  Juan  of  whom 
I  have  told  you." 

Morin  smiled  at  Johnnie  and  extended  his  dirty  palm. 
"The  little  fellow  can  speak  the  truth  when  he  wishes,  it 
seems.  I  began  to  doubt  that  he  had  a  brother.  What 
a  boy,  eh?"  Leaning  closer,  he  whispered,  hoarsely: 
"It  is  cheaper  to  give  him  a  fish  than  to  have  him  steal 
a  whole  basketful.  But  he  is  a  great  liar.  Even  yet 
I'm  not  sure  that  he  knows  my  Miguelito." 

"You  have  a  son.  with  the  Insurrectos?" 

"Yes."  The  fisherman  cast  a  furtive  glance  over  his 
shoulder.  "He  is  a  traitor  of  the  worst  sort,  and  I  don't 
approve  of  him,  but  he's  a  brave  boy  and  he  loves  fighting. 
Sometimes  I  get  hungry  to  see  him." 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  fight  by  his  side?"  Jacket  de 
manded. 

"God  forbid!"  Morin  flung  up  his  hands.  "I'm  a 
loyal  subject." 

"Well,  we  are  going  back  to  fight.  We  are  going  to 
escape  and  join  Gomez  once  more!"  Jacket  made  the 
announcement  calmly. 

"'S-sh!  What  talk!"  Morin  was  in  a  nervous  panic 
lest  they  be  overheard.  "As  if  anybody  could  escape 
from  Matanzas!  What  made  you  come  here  if  you  are 
so  eager  to  fight?" 

"I'll  tell  you."  O'Reilly  assumed  direction  of  the  con 
versation.  "There  are  three  of  us  brothers,  we  two  and 
Este"ban,  a  pretty  little  fellow.  He  was  captured  by 
Cobo's  men  and  driven  in,  and  we  came  to  find  him." 

"You  came  here — here  to  Matanzas?"  Old  Morin 
was  incredulous.  He  muttered  an  oath.  "That  was  a 
very  nice  thing  to  do.  And  did  you  find  him?" 

"Oh  yes!  That  was  easy  enough,  for  the  lad  is  de 
formed." 

"Tse!    Tse!    What  a  pity!" 
332 


MORIN,   THE    FISHERMAN 

"But  he  is  sick — dying — " 

"Of  course.  They're  all  dying — the  poor  people!  It 
is  terrible." 

' '  We — ' '  O'Reilly  faltered  slightly,  so  much  hung  upon 
the  manner  in  which  Morin  would  take  what  he  was  about 
to  say.  "  We  want  to  get  him  out  of  here — we  must  do  so, 
or  we'll  lose  him." 

Sensing  some  hidden  significance,  some  obscure  purpose 
behind  this  confession,  the  Spaniard  looked  sharply  at  the 
speaker.  His  leathery  countenance  darkened. 

"Why  are  you  telling  me  this?"  he  inquired.  "What 
makes  you  think  I  won't  betray  you?" 

"Something  tells  me  you  won't.  You  have  a  good 
heart,  and  you  have  kept  Narciso  from  starving,  for  the 
sake  of  your  own  boy." 

"Well?" 

"Will  you  help  us?" 

"I?     In  Heaven's  name,  how?" 

"By  taking  us  away  in  your  charcoal -schooner." 

"You're  mad!"  Morin  cast  another  apprehensive  look 
over  his  shoulder.  "I'm  a  poor  man.  All  I  have  is  my 
two  boats,  the  vivero,  which  brings  fish,  and  the  volandra, 
which  sails  with  charcoal.  Do  you  think  I'd  forfeit  them 
and  my  life  for  strangers?" 

"There  wouldn't  be  much  risk." 

"Indeed?     Perhaps  I  know  something  about  that." 

O'Reilly  leaned  closer.  "You  say  you're  a  poor  man. 
I  will  pay  you  well." 

Morin  eyed  the  ragged  speaker  scornfully;  it  was  plain 
that  he  put  no  faith  in  such  a  promise,  and  so  O'Reilly 
took  a  piece  of  gold  from  his  pocket,  at  sight  of  which  the 
fisherman  started. 

"What  kind  of  pacificos  are  you?"  Morin  queried.  His 
mouth  had  fallen  open,  his  eyes  protruded. 

"I,  too,  am  a  poor  man,  but  I'm  willing  to  buy  freedom 
for  my  little  brothers  and  myself." 

333 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"How  many  coins  like  that  have  you?" 

"Um-m — more  than  one;  enough  to  pay  you  for 
several  cargoes  of  coal." 

"And  I  have  given  you  fish  to  eat!"  Morin  rolled  his 
eyes  at  Jacket.  He  pondered  the  marvel  of  what  he  had 
seen,  he  muttered  something  to  himself. 

"  For  the  sake  of  Miguelito, ' '  Jacket  urged.  ' '  Caramba! 
What  a  hard-hearted  father  begot  that  boy!" 

"Hush!"  The  fisherman  was  scowling.  To  O'Reilly 
he  said,  "You  do  wrong  to  tempt  a  poor  man." 

"My  brother  Este"ban  is  sick.  He  is  a  frail  little  lad 
with  a  crooked  back.  God  will  reward  you." 

' '  Perhaps !    But  how  much  will  you  pay  ?' ' 

"Ten  Spanish  sovereigns  like  this — all  that  I  have." 

"  No !    It  is  not  enough. ' ' 

O'Reilly  took  Jacket's  hand  and  turned  away.  "I'm 
sorry,"  said  he.  "I  wish  I  might  offer  you  more."  He 
had  taken  several  steps  before  Morin  hailed  him. 

"Come  back  to-morrow,"  the  fisherman  cried,  crossly. 
"We  will  try  to  talk  like  sensible  people." 

The  brothers  Villar  were  back  at  Morin's  fish-stand  on 
the  following  afternoon  and  they  returned  daily  thereafter 
until  they  at  last  prevailed  over  the  Spaniard's  fears  and 
won  his  promise  of  assistance.  That  much  accomplished, 
they  made  several  cautious  purchases,  a  coat  here,  a  shirt 
there,  a  pair  of  trousers  in  another  place,  until  they  had 
assembled  a  complete  boy's  outfit  of  clothing. 

At  first  Rosa  refused  absolutely  to  desert  her  two 
faithful  negro  friends,  and  O'Reilly  won  her  consent  to 
consider  his  plan  of  escape  only  after  he  had  put  the 
matter  squarely  up  to  Asensio  and  his  wife  and  after 
both  had  refused  to  enter  into  it.  Asensio  declared  that 
he  was  too  sick  to  be  moved,  and  asserted  that  he  would 
infinitely  prefer  to  remain  where  he  was,  provided  he  was 
supplied  with  sufficient  money  to  cover  his  needs.  Evan- 
gelina  agreed  with  him. 

334 


MORIN,   THE    FISHERMAN 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  did  Rosa  begin  her  prepara 
tions.  First  she  made  Evangelina  cut  her  hair,  a  sacrilege 
that  wrung  sighs  and  tears  and  loud  lamentations  from 
the  black  woman,  after  which  she  altered  the  suit  of  boy's 
clothing  to  fit  her  figure,  or  rather  to  conceal  it. 

When  at  last  she  put  it  on  for  O'Reilly's  approval  she 
was  very  shy,  very  self-conscious,  and  so  altogether  un- 
boylike  that  he  shook  his  head  positively. 

"My  dear,  you'll  never  do,"  he  told  her.  "You  are 
altogether  too  pretty." 

"  But  wait  until  I  put  that  hideous  hump  upon  my  back 
and  stain  my  face,  then  you  will  see  how  ugly  I  can  look." 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  doubtfully.  A  moment,  then  his 
frown  lightened.  "You  give  me  a  thought,"  said  he. 
"You  shall  wear  the  jewels." 

"Wear  them?    How?" 

"On  your  back,  in  that  very  hump.  It  will  be  the 
safest  possible  way  to  conceal  them." 

Rosa  clapped  her  hands  in  delight.  "Why,  of  course! 
It  is  the  very  thing.  Wait  until  I  show  you." 

Profiting  by  her  first  moment  alone — Evangelina  and 
her  husband  being  still  in  ignorance  of  the  contents  of  the 
treasure-box — Rosa  made  a  bundle  out  of  the  jewels  and 
trinkets  and  fastened  it  securely  inside  her  coat.  After 
a  few  experiments  she  adjusted  it  to  her  liking,  then 
called  O'Reilly  once  more.  This  time  he  was  better 
satisfied;  he  was,  in  truth,  surprised  at  the  effect  of  the 
disfigurement,  and,  after  putting  Rosa  through  several 
rehearsals  in  masculine  deportment,  he  pronounced  the 
disguise  as  nearly  perfect  as  could  be  hoped  for.  An 
application  of  Evangelina's  stain  to  darken  her  face,  a  few 
tatters  and  a  liberal  application  of  dirt  to  the  suit,  and  he 
declared  that  Rosa  would  pass  anywhere  as  a  boy. 

There  came  a  night  when  the  three  of  them  bade  good-by 
to  their  black  companions  and  slipped  away  across  the 
city  to  that  section  known  as  Pueblo  Nuevo,  then  followed 

335 


RAINBOW'S    END 

the  road  along  the  water-front  until  they  found  shelter 
within  the  shadows  of  a  rickety  structure  which  had  once 
served  as  a  bath-house.  The  building  stood  partially 
upon  piles  and  under  it  they  crept,  knee-deep  in  the 
lapping  waves.  To  their  left  was  the  illumination  of 
Matanzas;  to  their  right,  the  lights  of  the  Penas  Altas 
fort ;  ahead  of  them,  empty  and  dark  save  for  the  riding- 
lights  of  a  few  small  coasting-vessels,  lay  the  harbor. 

The  refugees  waited  a  long  time;  they  were  beginning 
to  fear  that  old  Morin's  nerve  had  weakened  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  when  they  beheld  a  skiff  approaching  the 
shore.  It  glided  closer,  entered  the  shade  of  the  bath 
house,  then  a  voice  cried: 

"Pset!    You  are  there?"     It  was  Morin  himself. 

Hastily  the  three  piled  aboard.  Morin  bent  to  his 
oars  and  the  skiff  shot  out.  "You  were  not  observed?" 
he  inquired. 

"No." 

Morin  rowed  in  silence  for  a  time,  then  confessed: 
"This  business  is  not  to  my  liking.  There  is  too  much 
risk.  Think  of  me  putting  my  neck  in  peril — " 

"Ho!"  Jacket  chuckled.  "It  is  just  the  sort  of  thing 
that  I  enjoy.  If  Miguelito  was  captain  of  his  father's 
boat  we'd  been  in  Cardenas  by  daybreak." 

"When  do  you  sail?"  O'Reilly  asked. 

"At  dawn,  God  permitting.  You  will  have  to  remain 
hidden  and  you  mustn't  even  breathe.  I  have  told  my 
men  that  you  are  members  of  my  wife's  family — good 
Spaniards,  but  I  doubt  if  they  will  believe  it." 

"Then  you  are  to  be  my  uncle?"  Jacket  inquired  from 
his  seat  in  the  bow.  "Caramba!  That's  more  than  I  can 
stand!  To  be  considered  a  Spaniard  is  bad  enough,  but 
to  be  known  as  the  nephew  of  an  old  miser  who  smells 
of  fish !  It  is  too  much !" 

Badinage  of  this  sort  did  not  displease  the  fisherman. 
"It  is  not  often  they  board  us  nowadays,"  he  said,  more 

336 


MORIN,    THE    FISHERMAN 

hopefully,  "but  of  course  one  never  can  tell.  Perhaps  we 
will  sail  out  under  their  very  noses." 

He  brought  the  skiff  alongisde  a  battered  old  schooner 
and  his  passengers  clambered  aboard.  There  was  a  tiny 
cabin  aft  and  on  it,  sheltered  from  the  night  dew  by  a 
loose  fold  of  the  mainsail,  were  two  sleeping  men.  The 
new-comers  followed  Morin  down  into  the  evil  little  cabin, 
where  he  warned  Lhem  in  a  stertorous  whisper: 

"Not  a  sound,  mind  you.  If  any  one  comes  aboard, 
you  must  shift  for  yourselves.  Creep  into  the  hold  and 
hide.  Of  course,  if  we  are  searched — "  He  muttered 
something,  then  groped  his  way  out  on  deck,  and  closed 
the  hatch  behind  him. 

It  was  inky  dark  in  the  cabin ;  the  occupants  dared  not 
move  about  for  fear  of  waking  the  sailors  overhead. 
Time  passed  slowly.  After  a  while  Jacket  yawned  and 
sighed  and  grumbled  under  his  breath.  Finally  he 
stretched  himself  out  upon  a  narrow  board  bench  and  fell 
asleep.  O'Reilly  drew  Rosa  to  him  and  she  snuggled 
comfortably  into  his  embrace,  resting  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder.  It  was  their  first  real  moment  alone. 

Now  that  they  had  actually  embarked  upon  this  enter 
prise  and  the  girl  had  given  herself  entirely  into  his  hands, 
now  that  an  imminent  peril  encompassed  them  both, 
Johnnie  felt  that  Rosa  belonged  to  him  more  absolutely, 
more  completely,  than  at  any  time  heretofore,  so  he  held 
her  close.  He  caressed  her  gently,  he  voiced  those  tender, 
intimate,  foolish  thoughts  which  he  had  never  dared  ex 
press.  This  velvet  darkness,  this  utter  isolation,  seemed 
to  unite  them;  -  to  feel  the  girl's  heart  beating  against  his 
own  and  her  breath  warm  upon  his  cheek  was  intensely 
thrilling.  An  exquisite  ardor  inflamed  him,  and  Rosa  re 
sponded  to  it.  They  resisted  briefly,  prolonging  the  de 
lights  of  this  moment,  then  her  arms  crept  about  him, 
her  lips  met  his  in  absolute  surrender. 

They  began  to  whisper,  cautiously,  so  as  not  to  disturb 
337 


the  sleeping  boy;  they  became  unconscious  of  the  flight  of 
time.  Rosa  lay  relaxed  against  her  lover's  shoulder  and 
in  halting  murmurs,  interrupted  many  times  by  caresses, 
she  told  O'Reilly  of  her  need  for  him,  and  her  utter  happi 
ness.  It  was  the  fullest  hour  of  their  lives. 

Sometimes  he  thought  she  must  be  dozing,  but  he  was 
never  sure,  for  she  answered  to  his  lightest  touch  and 
awoke  to  the  faintest  pressure  of  his  lips.  The  night  wore 
swiftly  on,  and  it  was  not  long  enough  for  either  of  them. 

With  daylight,  Morin  routed  out  his  men.  There  was 
a  sleepy  muttering,  the  patter  of  bare  feet  upon  the  deck 
above,  then  the  creak  of  blocks  as  the  sails  were  raised. 
From  forward  came  the  sound  of  some  one  splitting  wood 
to  kindle  the  charcoal  fire  for  breakfast.  Other  sailing- 
craft  seemed  to  be  getting  under  way,  and  a  fishing-boat, 
loaded  with  the  night's  catch,  came  to  anchor  alongside. 

The  three  brothers  Villar  felt  the  schooner  heel  slightly 
and  knew  that  she  was  stealing  toward  the  Spanish  gun 
boat  which  was  supposed  to  be  on  guard  against  precisely 
such  undertakings  as  this.  A  few  moments,  then  there 
came  a  hail  which  brought  their  hearts  into  their  throats. 
Morin  himself  answered  the  call. 

"Good  morning,  countryman!  Have  you  caught  any 
of  those  accursed  filibusters  since  I  saw  you  last?  So? 
Cayo  Romano,  eh  ?  Well,  they  come  in  the  night  and  they 
go  in  the  night.  If  I  were  the  pilot  of  your  ship  I'd 
guarantee  to  put  you  where  they'd  fall  into  your  arms,  for 
I  know  these  waters.  What  have  I  aboard?"  Morin 
laughed  loudly.  "You  know  very  well — cannon  and  shot 
for  the  rebels,  of  course.  Will  you  look? . . .  No? . . .  Then 
a  cup  of  coffee  perhaps?" 

O'Reilly  peeped  through  a  dirt-stained  cabin  window 
and  saw  that  the  volandra  was  slipping  past  the  stern 
of  the  ironclad,  so  he  withdrew  his  head  quickly. 

In  spite  of  his  hospitable  invitation,  Captain  Morin 
made  no  move  to  come  about,  but  instead  held  his  schooner 

338 


MORIN,    THE    FISHERMAN 

on  its  course,  meanwhile  exchanging  shouts  with  the  un 
seen  speaker.  It  seemed  incredible  that  Spanish  disci 
pline  could  be  so  lax,  that  the  schooner  would  be  allowed 
to  depart,  even  for  a  coastwise  run,  without  some  formal 
ities  of  clearance,  but  so  it  seemed.  Evidently  the 
Spaniards  had  tired  of  examining  these  small  craft.  It 
was  typical  of  their  carelessness. 

Of  course  this  was  but  one  danger  past  and  there  were 
many  more  ahead,  for  Morin's  schooner  was  liable  to  be 
stopped  by  any  of  the  numerous  patrol-boats  on  duty 
to  the  eastward.  Nevertheless,  when  an  anxious  hour  had 
gone  by  and  she  was  well  out  toward  the  harbor  mouth, 
the  refugees  told  one  another  they  were  safe. 

Morin  shoved  back  the  companionway  hatch  and 
thrust  a  grinning  face  into  view.  "Ho,  there!  my  lazy 
little  cousins!"  he  cried.  "Wake  up,  for  I  smell  Pancho's 
coffee  boiling." 


XXVIII 

THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

T7  STfiBAN  VARONA  made  slow  progress  toward  re- 
JLrf  co very.  In  the  weeks  following  O'Reilly's  departure 
from  Cubitas  his  gain  was  steady,  but  beyond  a  certain 
point  he  seemed  unable  to  go.  Then  he  began  to  lose 
strength.  Norine  was  the  first  to  realize  the  truth,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  she  would  acknowledge  it,  even 
to  herself.  At  last,  however,  she  had  to  face  the  fact 
that  Este*ban's  months  of  prison  fare,  the  abuse,  the 
neglect  he  had  suffered  in  Spanish  hands,  had  left  him 
little  more  than  a  living  corpse.  It  seemed  as  if  fever 
had  burned  him  out,  or  else  some  dregs  of  disease  still 
lingered  in  his  system  and  had  all  but  quenched  that  elu 
sive  spark  which  for  want  of  a  better  name  we  call  vitality. 
Este"ban,  too,  awoke  to  the  fact  that  he  was  losing 
ground,  and  his  dismay  was  keen,  for  a  wonderful  thing 
had  come  into  his  life  and  he  spent  much  of  his  time  in 
delicious  contemplative  day  dreams  concerning  it,  waiting 
for  the  hour  when  he  would  dare  translate  those  dreams 
into  realities.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  always  loved 
Norine;  certainly  she  had  enshrined  herself  in  his  heart 
long  before  his  mind  had  regained  its  clarity,  for  he  had 
come  out  of  his  delirious  wanderings  with  his  love  full 
grown.  There  had  been  no  conscious  beginning  to  it ;  he 
had  emerged  from  darkness  into  dazzling  glory,  all  in  an 
instant.  Not  until  he  found  himself  slipping  backward 
did  he  attempt  to  set  a  guard  upon  himself,  for  up  to  that 

340 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

hour  he  had  never  questioned  his  right  to  love.  He  found 
his  new  task  heavy,  almost  too  much  for  him  to  bear. 
That  he  attempted  it  spoke  well  for  the  fellow's  strength  of 
character. 

The  time  came  finally  when  he  could  no  longer  permit 
the  girl  to  deceive  herself  or  him  with  her  brave  assump 
tion  of  cheerfulness.  Norine  had  just  told  him  that  he 
was  doing  famously,  but  he  smiled  and  shook  his  weary 
head. 

"Let's  be  honest,"  he  said.  "You  know  and  I  know 
that  I  can't  get  well." 

Norine  was  engaged  in  straightening  up  the  interior 
of  the  bark  hut  in  which  her  patient  was  installed;  she 
ceased  her  labors  to  inquire  with  lifted  brows: 

"Tut!    Tut!    Pray  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"There's  something  desperately  wrong  with  me  and  I 
realized  it  long  ago.  So  did  you,  but  your  good  heart 
wouldn't  let  you — " 

Norine  crossed  quickly  to  the  hammock  and  laid  her 
cool  hand  upon  the  sick  man's  forehead. 

"You  mustn't  be  discouraged,"  she  told  him,  earnestly. 
"Remember  this  is  a  trying  climate  and  we  have  nothing 
to  do  with.  Even  the  food  is  wretched." 

Este"ban's  smile  became  wistful.  "That  isn't  why  my 
fever  lasts.  If  there  were  any  life,  any  health  left  in  me 
you  would  rekindle  it.  No,  there's  something  desperately 
wrong,  and — we're  wasting  time." 

"You  simply  mustn't  talk  like  this,"  she  cried.  Then 
at  the  look  in  his  eyes  she  faltered  for  the  briefest  instant. 
"You'll — undo  all  that  we've  done.  Oh,  if  I  had  you 
where  I  could  take  proper  care  of  you  1  If  we  were  any 
where  but  here  you  d  see." 

"I — believe  you.  But  unfortunately  we  are  not  else 
where." 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  away,"  she  exclaimed,  forcefully. 

Est^ban  stroked  her  hand  softly.     "You  can't  do  that, 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Miss  Evans.  You  have  been  wonderful  to  me  and  I  can't 
begin  to  express  my  gratitude — "  Norine  stirred,  but 
he  retained  his  grasp  of  her  fingers,  gaining  courage  from 
the  contact  to  proceed.  "I  have  been  trying  for  a  long 
time  to  tell  you  something.  Will  you  listen?" 

Norine  possessed  a  dominant  personality;  she  had  a 
knack  of  tactfully  controlling  and  directing  situations,  but 
of  a  sudden  she  experienced  a  panic-stricken  flutter  and 
she  lost  her  air  of  easy  confidence. 

"Not  now,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  visible  lessening  of 
color.  "  Don't  bother  to  tell  me  now." 

"I've  waited  too  long;  I  must  speak." 

Norine  was  amazed  at  her  own  confusion,  which  was 
nothing  less  than  girlish;  she  had  actually  gone  to  pieces 
at  threat  of  something  she  had  long  expected  to  hear. 

"  I  know  how  tired  of  this  work  you  have  become,"  the 
man  was  saying.  "  I  know  you're  eager  to  get  back  to  your 
own  work  and  your  own  life." 

"Well?" 

"You  have  stayed  on  here  just  to  nurse  me.  Isn't  that 
true?" 

She  nodded  somewhat  doubtfully. 

"Now  then,  you  must  stop  thinking  about  me  and — 
make  your  arrangements  to  go  home." 

Norine  eyed  the  speaker  queerly.  "Is  that  what  you 
have  been  trying  so  long  to  tell  me?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"Is  that— all?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  "Yes.  You  see,  I 
know  how  tired  you  are  of  this  misery,  this  poverty,  this 
hopeless  struggle.  You're  not  a  Cuban  and  our  cause 
isn't  yours.  Expeditions  come  from  the  United  States 
every  now  and  then  and  the  Government  will  see  that 
you  are  put  safely  aboard  the  first  ship  that  returns.  I'll 
manage  to  get  well  somehow." 

Norine' s  color  had  returned.  She  stood  over  the  ham- 
342 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

mock,  looking  down  mistily.     "  Don't  you  need  me,  want 
me  any  more?"  she  inquired. 

Este*ban  turned  his  tired  eyes  away,  fearing  to  betray 
in  them  his  utter  wretchedness.  "You  have  done  all 
there  is  to  do.  I  want  you  to  go  back  into  your  own  world 
and  forget — " 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  the  girl.  She  stopped  and 
gathered  the  sick  man  into  her  young,  strong  arms. 
"Don't  be  silly,"  she  cried.  "My  world  is  your  world, 
Este"ban  dear.  I'll  never,  never  leave  you." 

"Miss  Evans!  Norine!"  Varona  tried  feebly  to  free 
himself.  "You  mustn't—" 

Norine  was  laughing  through  her  tears.  "  If  you  won't 
speak,  I  suppose  I  must,  but  it  is  very  embarrassing. 
Don't  you  suppose  I  know  exactly  how  much  you  love  me? 
Why,  you've  told  me  a  thousand  times — " 

"Please!  Please!"  he  cried  in  a  shaking  voice.  "This 
is  wrong.  I  won't  let  you — you,  a  girl  with  everything — " 

"Hush!"  She  drew  him  closer.  "You're  going  to  tell 
me  that  you  have  nothing,  can  offer  me  nothing.  You're 
going  to  do  the  generous,  noble  thing.  Well!  I  hate 
generous  people.  I'm  selfish,  utterly  selfish  and  spoiled, 
and  I  don't  propose  to  be  robbed  of  anything  I  want, 
least  of  all  my  happiness.  You  do  love  me,  don't  you?" 

Este"ban's  cry  was  eloquent;  he  clasped  his  arms  about 
her  and  she  held  him  fiercely  to  her  breast. 

"Well,  then,  why  don't  you  tell  me  so?  I — I  can't 
keep  on  proposing.  It  isn't  ladylike." 

"We're  quite  mad,  quite  insane,"  he  told  her  after  a 
while.  "This  only  makes  it  harder  to  give  you  up." 

"You're  not  going  to  give  me  up  and  you're  not 
going  to  die.  I  sha'n't  let  you.  Think  what  you  have 
to  live  for." 

"I — did  wrong  to  surrender." 

"  It  was  I  who  surrendered.  Come!  Must  I  say  it  all? 
Aren't  you  going  to  ask  me — " 

343 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"What?" 

"Why,  to  marry  you,  of  course." 

Este"ban  gasped;  he  looked  deeply  into  Norine's  eyes, 
then  he  closed  his  own.  He  shook  his  head.  "Not  that," 
he  whispered.  "Oh,  not  that!" 

"We're  going  to  be  married,  and  I'm  going  to  take  you 
out  of  this  miserable  place." 

"What  happiness!"  he  murmured.  "If  I  were  well — 
But  I  won't  let  you  marry  a  dying  man." 

Norine  rose,  her  face  aglow  with  new  strength,  new  de 
termination.  She  dried  her  eyes  and  readjusted  her  hair 
with  deft,  unconscious  touch,  smiling  down,  meanwhile, 
at  the  man.  "  I  brought  you  back  when  you  were  all  but 
gone.  I  saved  you  after  the  others  had  given  you  up,  and 
now  you  are  mine  to  do  with  as  I  please.  You  belong  to 
me  and  I  sha'n't  consult  you — "  She  turned,  for  a  figure 
had  darkened  the  door;  it  was  one  of  her  English-speaking 
convalescents  who  was  acting  as  a  sort  of  orderly. 

"Sefiorita,"  the  man  said,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth, 
"we  have  another  sick  man,  and  you'd  never  guess  who. 
It  is  that  American,  El  Demonic — " 

"Mr.  Branch?" 

"Si!  The  very  same.  He  has  just  come  from  the 
front." 

"  Is  he  sick  or  wounded?"  Este*ban  inquired. 

"Shot,  by  a  Spanish  bullet.  He  asked  at  once  for  our 
sefiorita." 

"Of  course.  I'll  come  in  an  instant."  When  the  mes 
senger  had  gone  Norine  bent  and  pressed  her  lips  to 
Este"ban's.  "Remember,  you're  mine  to  do  with  as  I 
please,"  she  said;  then  she  fled  down  the  grassy  street. 

Branch  was  waiting  at  Norine's  quarters,  a  soiled  figure 
of  dejection.  His  left  arm  lay  in  a  sling  across  his  breast. 
He  looked  up  at  her  approach,  but  she  scarcely  recognized 
him,  so  greatly  changed  was  he. 

Leslie  had  filled  out.  There  was  a  healthy  color  be- 

344 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

neath  his  deep  tan,  his  flesh  was  firm,  his  eyes  clear  and 
bright. 

"Hello,  Norine!"  he  cried.     "Well,  they  got  me." 

Norine  paused  in  astonishment.  "Why,  Leslie!  I  was 
so  frightened!  But — you  can't  be  badly  hurt." 

"Bad  enough  so  that  Lopez  sent  me  in.  A  fellow  gets 
flyblown  if  he  stays  in  the  field,  so  I  beat  it." 

"  Has  your  arm  been  dressed?" 

"No.  I  wouldn't  let  these  rough-and-tumble  doctors 
touch  it.  They'd  amputate  at  the  shoulder  for  a  hang 
nail.  I  don't  trust  'em." 

"  Then  I'll  look  at  it." 

But  Leslie  shrugged.  "Oh,  it's  feeling  fine,  right  now! 
I'd  rather  leave  it  alone.  I  just  wanted  to  see  you — " 

"You  mustn't  neglect  it;  there's  danger  of — " 

"Gee!  You're  looking  great,"  he  interrupted.  "It's 
better  than  a  banquet  just  to  look  at  you." 

"And  you!"  Norine  scanned  the  invalid  appraisingly. 
"Why,  you're  another  man!" 

"Sure!  Listen  to  this."  He  thumped  his  chest. 
"  Best  pair  of  bellows  in  Cuba.  The  open  air  did  it." 

"What  a  pity  you  were  hurt  just  at  such  a  time.  But 
you  would  take  insane  risks.  Now  then,  let's  have  a  look 
at  your  wound."  She  pushed  him,  protesting,  into  her 
cabin. 

"It  doesn't  hurt,  really,"  he  declared.  "It's  only  a 
scratch." 

"  Of  course  you'd  say  so.    Sit  down." 

"Please  don't  bother.     If  you  don't  mind — " 

"But  I  do  mind.  If  you  won't  trust  me  I'll  run  for  a 
doctor." 

"I  tell  you  I  can't  stand  'em.  They'll  probe  around 
and  give  a  fellow  gangrene." 

"Then  behave  yourself."  Norine  forced  the  patient 
into  a  chair  and  withdrew  his  arm  from  the  sling.  Then, 
despite  his  weak  resistance,  she  deftly  removed  the  ban- 
23  345 


RAINBOW'S    END 

dage.  From  his  expression  she  felt  sure  that  she  must  be 
hurting  him,  but  when  the  injury  was  exposed  she  looked 
up  in  wonderment. 

"Leslie!"  she  exclaimed.     "What  in  the  world — " 

"Well!  You  insisted  on  seeing  it,"  he  grumbled.  "I 
told  you  it  wasn't  much."  He  tried  to  meet  her  eyes,  but 
failed. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then  Norine  inquired, 
curiously:  "What  is  the  trouble?  You'd  better  'fess  up." 

Branch  struggled  with  himself,  he  swallowed  hard,  then 
said:  "I'm — going  to.  You  can  see  now  why  I  didn't  go 
to  a  doctor: .  I  did  it — shot  myself.  You  won't  give  me 
away?" 

"Why— I  don't  understand." 

"Oh,  I'm  in  trouble.  I  simply  had  to  get  away,  and 
this  was  all  I  could  think  of.  I  wanted  to  blow  a  real 
hole  through  myself  and  I  tried  three  times.  But  I  missed 
myself." 

"Missed  yourself?    How?    Why?" 

Branch  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face.  "I  flinched — 
shut  my  eyes  and  pulled  the  trigger." 

Norine  seated  herself  weakly;  she  stared  in  bewilder 
ment  at  the  unhappy  speaker.  "Afraid?  You,  El  De- 
monio!  Why,  you  aren't  afraid  of  anything!" 

"Say!  You  don't  believe  all  that  stuff,  do  you?  I'm 
afraid  of  my  shadow  and  always  have  been.  I'm  not 
brave  and  never  was.  They  told  me  I  was  going  to  die 
and  it  scared  me  so  that  I  tried  to  end  things  quickly.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  die  slowly,  to  know  that  I  was  dying  by 
inches.  But,  Lord !  It  scared  me  even  worse  to  go  into 
battle.  I  was  blind  with  fright  all  the  time  and  I  never 
got  over  it.  Why,  the  sight  of  a  gun  gives  me  a  chill,  and 
I  jump  every  time  one  goes  off.  God!  how  I've  suffered! 
I  went  crazy  at  our  first  engagement — crazy  with  fear. 
I  didn't  know  where  I  was,  or  what  happened,  or  any 
thing.  Afterward,  when  they  hailed  me  as  a  hero,  I 

346 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

thought  they  were  kidding,  that  everybody  must  know 
how  frightened  I  was.  After  a  time  I  saw  that  I'd  fooled 
them,  and  that  shamed  me.  Then — I  had  to  keep  it  up 
or  become  ridiculous.  But  it  nearly  killed  me." 

"If  you're  speaking  the  truth,  I'm  not  sure  you're  such 
a  coward  as  you  make  out,"  Norine  said. 

"Oh  yes,  I  am.  Wait!  Before  I  knew  it  I  had  a 
reputation.  Then  I  had  to  live  up  to  it."  The  speaker 
groaned.  "It  wasn't  so  bad  as  long  as  I  felt  sure  I  was 
going  to  die,  anyhow,  but  when  I  discovered  I  was  getting 
well — "  Branch  raised  a  pair  of  tragic  eyes,  his  tone 
changed.  "I'll  tell  you  what  cured  me.  I  scared  myself 
well!  Those  bugs  in  my  lungs  died  from  suffocation,  for 
I  never  breathed  as  long  as  there  was  a  Spaniard  in  the 
same  county  with  me.  One  day  I  found  that  I  couldn't 
cough  if  I  tried.  I  got  strong.  I  slept  well.  And  eat? 
Huh !  I  gobbled  my  share  of  food  and  whined  for  more. 
I  stole  what  belonged  to  the  others.  I  began  to  enjoy 
myself — to  have  fun.  Life  opened  up  nice  and  rosy.  I 
fell  in  love  with  my  new  self  and  the  joy  of  living.  Then 
I  didn't  want  to  die — never  had,  you  understand,  except 
to  cheat  the  bugs ;  it  gave  me  the  horrors  to  think  of  the 
chances  I'd  taken.  To  be  strong,  to  be  healthy  and  free 
from  pain,  to  tear  my  food  like  a  wild  animal,  and  to 
enjoy  hard  work  was  all  new  and  strange  and  wonderful. 
I  was  drunk  with  it.  To  think  of  being  cut  down,  crip 
pled,  reduced  to  the  useless,  miserable  thing  I  had  been, 
was  intolerable.  I  was  twice  as  scared  then  as  I'd  ever 
been,  for  I  had  more  to  lose.  You  understand  ?  I  forced 
myself  to  do  the  insane  things  expected  of  me,  when 
people  were  looking — natural  pride,  I  suppose — but  when 
they  weren't  looking,  oh,  how  I  dogged  it !  I  crawled  on 
my  belly  and  hid  in  holes  like  a  snake." 

"How — funny!"  Norine  exclaimed. 

"You've  got  a  blamed  queer  idea  of  humor,"  Branch 
flashed,  with  a  show  of  his  former  irritability. 

347 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"And  so  you  shot  yourself?" 

"Yep!  I  tried  to  select  a  good  spot  where  it  wouldn't 
hurt  or  prove  too  inconvenient,  but — there  isn't  a  place  to 
spare  on  a  fellow's  whole  body.  He  needs  every  inch  of 
himself  every  minute.  I  was  going  to  shoot  myself  in  the 
foot,  but  my  feet  are  full  of  bones  and  I  saw  myself  on 
crutches  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"Why  didn't  you  resign  from  the  service?  You  didn't 
regularly  enlist  and  you've  surely  earned  your  dis 
charge." 

Branch  nodded.  "I  thought  of  that,  but  I've  gained  a 
reputation  that  I  don't  deserve  and,  strangely  enough, 
I'm  madly  jealous  of  it.  I  thought  if  I  were  really  shot 
by  a  regular  bullet  I'd  be  mourned  as  a  hero  and  have  a 
chance  to  walk  out  with  colors  flying.  I  want  to  tell  my 
children,  if  I  ever  have  any,  what  a  glorious  man  I  was 
and  how  I  helped  to  free  Cuba.  Oh,  I'd  lie  like  a  thief  to 
my  own  children !  Now  you  see  why  I  don't  want  a  doc 
tor.  There's  only  one  thing  I  want — and  that's — home." 
Leslie  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "Gee!  I'm  homesick." 

"So  am  I,"  Norine  feelingly  declared.  "I  think  I  un 
derstand  how  you  feel  and  I  can't  blame  you  for  wanting 
to  live,  now  that  you've  learned  what  a  splendid  thing 
life  is." 

"If  O'Reilly  had  been  with  me  I  think  I  could  have 
managed,  somehow,  for  he  would  have  understood,  too. 
I — I'll  never  go  back  to  the  front,  alone — they  can  shoot 
me,  if  they  want  to.  Have  you  heard  anything  from 
him?" 

"Not  a  word.  Cuba  swallowed  him  up.  Oh,  Leslie, 
it  is  a  cruel  country !  It  is  taking  the  best  and  the  young 
est.  I — want  to  go  away." 

He  smiled  mirthlessly.  "I'm  fed  up  on  it,  too.  I  want 
to  be  where  I  can  shave  when  I  need  to  and  wear  some 
thing  besides  canvas  pajamas.  I'm  cured  of  war;  I  want 
a  policeman  to  stop  the  traffic  and  help  me  across  the 

348 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

street.  I  want  to  put  my  feet  under  a  breakfast-table, 
rustle  a  morning  paper,  and  slap  an  egg  in  the  face.  That's 
all  the  excitement  I  hunger  for." 

Norine  filled  a  basin  with  clean  water  and,  taking  a 
fresh  bandage,  wrapped  up  the  self-inflicted  hurt,  Branch 
watching  her  anxiously.  Now  and  again  he  flinched  like  a 
child  when  she  touched  his  wound.  At  last  he  inquired, 
apprehensively,  "Is  it  infected?" 

"No." 

"Lord!  I'm  glad!  Wouldn't  it  be  just  my  luck  to  get 
blood  poisoning?" 

Norine  surprised  her  patient  by  inquiring,  irrelevantly, 
"Leslie,  is  there  anybody  here  who  can  marry  people?" 

"Eh?  Why,  of  course!"  Then  suddenly  his  somber 
face  lightened  and  he  cried:  "Norine!  Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Not  you.     I  wouldn't  marry  you." 

' '  Why  not  ?    I'm  perfectly  well— ' ' 

"  Please  answer  me." 

Leslie  settled  back  in  his  chair.  "I  dare  say  some  of 
the  Cuban  Cabinet  officers  could  put  up  a  good  bluff  at  a 
marriage  ceremony." 

"A  bluff  wouldn't  do." 

"Who's  going  to  be  married?" 

"lam." 

Branch  started  to  his  feet  once  more,  his  mouth  fell 
open.  "You?  Nonsense!"  When  she  nodded,  his  face 
darkened.  "Who  is  he?  Some  Cuban,  I'll  bet — one  of 
these  greasers." 

"ItispoorEsteTmn." 

"'Poor  Est6ban'!  Damn  it,  they're  all  poor.  That's 
the  very  reason  he  asked  you.  He's  after  your  money." 

"He  didn't  ask  me.  I  asked  him.  He's — dying, 
Leslie."  There  was  a  pause.  "  I'm  going  to  marry  him 
and  take  him  home,  where  he  can  get  well." 

"What  will  O'Reilly  say?" 

"I'm  afraid  we'll  never  see  O'Reilly  again.  Cuba 

349 


RAINBOW'S    END 

frightens  me.  It  has  taken  him,  it  will  take  Est6ban,  and 
— that  would  break  my  heart." 

"  Do  you  love  him  as  much  as  that?" 

Norine  raised  her  eyes  and  in  their  depths  Branch  read 
her  answer.  "Well,  that  ends  the  rest  of  us,"  he  sighed. 
"There's  a  Minister  of  Justice  here,  I  believe;  he  sounds 
as  if  he  could  perform  most  any  kind  of  a  ceremony. 
We'll  find  out  for  sure." 

It  so  happened  that  the  President  and  well-nigh  the 
entire  Provisional  Cabinet  were  in  Cubitas.  Leslie  and 
Norine  went  directly  to  the  former.  The  supreme  official 
was  eager  to  oblige  in  every  way  the  guest  of  his  Govern 
ment  and  her  dare-devil  countryman,  El  Demonio.  He 
promptly  sent  for  the  Minister  of  Justice,  who  in  turn 
gallantly  put  himself  at  Norine's  disposal.  He  declared 
that,  although  he  had  never  performed  the  marriage  cere 
mony  he  would  gladly  try  his  hand  at  it.  In  no  time  the 
news  had  spread  and  there  was  subdued  excitement 
throughout  the  camp.  When  Norine  left  headquarters 
she  was  the  target  of  smiles  and  friendly  greetings. 
Women  nodded  and  chattered  at  her,  ragged  soldiers 
swept  her  salutes  with  their  jipi-japa  hats,  children  clung 
to  her  and  capered  by  her  side.  It  was  vastly  embar 
rassing,  this  shameless  publicity,  but  it  was  touching,  too, 
for  there  was  genuine  affection  and  good- will  behind  every 
smile.  Norine  was  between  tears  and  laughter  when  she 
ran  panting  into  Este'ban's  cabin,  leaving  Branch  to  wait 
outside. 

At  sight  of  her  Est£ban  uttered  a  low  cry  of  happiness. 
"Dearest!  I've  been  lying  in  a  stupor  of  delight.  The 
world  has  become  bright :  I  hear  people  laughing.  What  a 
change!  And  how  is  El  Demonio?" 

"He's  all  right;  he's  waiting  to  see  you,  but  first — 
I've  arranged  everything !  The  President  and  his  Cabinet 
are  coming  to  witness  the  ceremony." 

Este*ban  poised,  petrified,  upon  his  elbow,  his  face  was 
35° 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

a  study.  "What  have  you  arranged?"  he  managed  to 
inquire. 

'"Sh-h!"  Norine  laid  a  finger  upon  his  lips.  "The 
guest  of  the  Republic  is  to  be  married  to-day.  Digni 
taries,  magistrates,  nabobs,  are  turning  out  in  her  honor. 
They  are  shaving  and  borrowing  clean  shirts  for  the 
occasion.  The  Minister  of  Justice  has  a  brand-new  pair 
of  tan  shoes  and  he  has  promised  to  wear  them,  come  rain 
or  shine." 

"Norine!  Oh,  my  dear — "  quavered  the  sick  man. 
" I  can't  let  you  do  this  mad  thing.  Think!  I'm  ready 
for  the  grave — " 

"  This  will  make  you  well.  We're  going  away  when  the 
very  next  expedition  arrives." 

But  still  Varona  protested.  "No,  no!  Who  am  I?  I 
have  nothing  to  offer,  nothing  to  give.  I'm  poorer  than 
a  peon." 

"Thank  goodness,  I  can  do  all  the  giving!  I've  never 
told  you,  Este"ban,  but  I'm  quite  rich."  Holding  the 
man  away,  she  smiled  into  his  eyes.  "Yes,  richer  than  I 
have  any  right  to  be.  I  had  no  need  to  come  to  Cuba; 
it  was  just  the  whim  of  an  irresponsible,  spoiled  young 
woman.  I  gave  a  huge  amount  of  money  to  the  New 
York  Junta  and  that's  why  I  was  allowed  to  come." 

"You're  not  a — a  trained  nurse?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no !    Except  when  it  amuses  me  to  pretend." 

"How  strange!"  The  invalid  was  dazed,  but  after  a 
moment  he  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  hard  to  say  this,  but  I 
don't  know  whether  you  really  love  me  or  whether  your 
great  heart  has  been  touched.  You  have  learned  my 
feelings,  and  perhaps  think  in  this  way  to  make  me  well. 
Is  that  it?" 

"No,  no!  I'm  thoroughly  selfish  and  must  have  what 
I  want.  I  want  you.  So  don't  let's  argue  about  it." 
Norine  tenderly  enfolded  the  weak  figure  in  her  arms. 
"You  must,  you  shall  get  well  or — I  shall  die,  too." 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"I  haven't  the  strength  to  refuse,"  Esteban  murmured. 
"And  yet,  how  can  I  leave  Cuba?  What  right  have  I  to 
accept  happiness  and  leave  Rosa — " 

This  was  a  subject  which  Norine  dreaded,  a  question  to 
which  she  knew  no  answer.  She  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
discuss  it,  and  made  no  attempt  to  do  so.  Instead,  she 
laid  the  invalid  upon  his  pillow,  saying: 

"  Leslie  is  waiting  to  wish  you  joy  and  a  quick  recovery. 
May  I  ask  him  in?" 

She  stepped  to  the  door,  only  to  behold  her  late  com 
panion  making  off  down  the  village  street  in  great  haste 
and  evident  excitement.  Surprised,  offended,  she  checked 
her  impulse  to  call  him  back.  A  moment,  then  she 
stepped  out  into  the  full  sunlight  and  stared  after  him, 
for  she  saw  that  which  explained  his  desertion.  Approach 
ing  between  the  drunken  rows  of  grass  huts  was  a  little 
knot  of  people.  Even  as  Norine  watched  it  grew  into  a 
considerable  crowd,  for  men  and  women  and  children 
came  hurrying  from  their  tasks.  There  were  three 
figures  in  the  lead,  a  man  and  two  boys,  and  they  walked 
slowly,  ploddingly,  as  if  weary  from  a  long  march. 

Norine  decided  that  they  were  not  villagers,  but  ragged 
facificos,  upon  the  verge  of  exhaustion.  She  saw  Branch 
break  into  a  swifter  run  and  heard  him  shout  something, 
then  through  eyes  suddenly  dimmed  she  watched  him 
fall  upon  the  tallest  of  the  three  strangers  and  embrace 
him.  The  crowd  grew  thicker.  It  surrounded  them. 

" Esteban!"  Norine  cried  in  a  voice  she  scarcely  recog 
nized.  She  retreated  into  the  doorway  with  one  hand 
upon  her  leaping  heart.  "Este'ban!  Look!  Some  one 
has  just  arrived.  Leslie  has  gone — "  She  cleared  her 
vision  with  a  shake  of  her  head  and  her  tongue  grew  thick 
with  excitement.  "They're  coming — here!  Yes!  It's 
—it's  O'Reilly!" 

Young  Varona  struggled  from  his  hammock.  "Rosa!" 
he  called,  loudly,  "Rosa!" 

352 


THREE  TRAVELERS  COME  HOME 

Norine  ran  and  caught  him  or  he  would  have  fallen 
prone.  He  pawed  and  fumbled  in  a  weak  attempt  to 
free  himself  from  her  restraining  arms ;  a  wildness  was  upon 
him;  he  shook  as  if  with  palsy.  "Did  he  bring  her  with 
him?  Is  she  here?  Why  don't  you  answer  me?  Rosa — " 
He  began  to  mutter  unintelligibly,  his  vitality  flared  up, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  Norine  could  hold  him 
down.  His  gaze,  fixed  upon  the  square  of  sunlight  framed 
by  the  low  doorway,  was  blazing  with  excitement.  To 
Norine  it  seemed  as  if  his  spirit,  in  the  uncertainty  of  this 
moment,  was  straining  to  leap  forth  in  an  effort  to  learn 
his  sister's  fate. 

The  crowd  was  near  at  hand  now.  There  came  the 
scuffling  of  feet  and  murmur  of  many  voices.  Este*ban 
fell  silent,  he  closed  his  hot,  bony  hands  upon  Norine's 
wrists  in  a  painful  grip.  He  bent  forward,  his  soul 
centered  in  his  tortured  eyes. 

There  came  a  shadow,  then  in  the  doorway  the  figure  of 
a  man,  a  tattered  scarecrow  of  a  man  whose  feet  were  bare 
and  whose  brown  calves  were  exposed  through  flapping 
rags.  His  breast  was  naked  where  thorns  had  tried  to  stay 
him;  his  beard,  even  his  hair,  were  matted  and  unkempt, 
and  the  mud  of  many  trails  lay  caked  upon  his  garments. 

It  was  O'Reilly! 

He  peered,  blinking,  into  the  obscurity,  then  he  turned 
and  drew  forward  a  frail  hunchbacked  boy  whose  face 
was  almost  a  mulatto  hue.  Hand  in  hand  they  stepped 
into  the  hut  and  once  again  Este"ban  Varona's  soul  found 
outlet  in  his  sister's  name.  He  held  out  his  shaking, 
hungry  arms  and  the  misshapen  lad  ran  into  them. 

Dumb  with  amazement,  blind  with  tears,  Norine  found 
herself  staring  upward  into  O'Reilly's  face,  and  heard  him 
saying: 

"I  told  you  I  would  bring  her  home." 

The  next  instant  she  lay  upon  his  breast  and  sobs  of 
joy  were  tearing  at  her. 

353 


XXIX 

WHAT   HAPPENED   AT   SUNDOWN 

'T'HE  story  of  Rosa's  rescue  came  slowly  and  in  frag- 
1  ments,  for  the  news  of  O'Reilly's  return  caused  a 
sensation.  .  His  recital  was  interrupted  many 'times.  So 
numerous  and  so  noisy  did  these  diversions  become  that 
Norine,  fearing  for  the  welfare  of  her  patient,  banished 
O'Reilly's  visitors  and  bore  him  and  Branch  off  to  her  own 
cabin,  leaving  the  brother  and .  sister  alone.  In  the 
privacy  of  Norine's  quarters  O'Reilly  finished  telling  her 
the  more  important  details  of  his  adventures.  He  was 
well-nigh  worn  out,  but  his  two  friends  would  not  respect 
his  weariness;  they  were  half  hysterical  with  joy  at  his 
safety,  treating  him  like  one  returned  from  the  dead; 
so  he  rambled  disjointedly  through  his  tale.  He  told 
them  of  his  hazardous  trip  westward,  of  his  and  Jacket's 
entrance  into  Matanzas  and  of  the  distressing  scenes  they 
witnessed  there.  When  he  had  finished  the  account  of  his 
dramatic  meeting  with  Rosa  his  hearers'  eyes  were  wet. 
The  recital  of  the  escape  held  them  breathless. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  our  get-away  was  ridiculously 
easy,"  he  said,  "for  we  had  luck  at  every  turn — regular 
Irish  luck.  I'm  sure  Captain  Morin  suspected  that 
Rosa  wasn't  a  boy,  but  he  was  perfectly  foolish  about 
Jacket  and  tolerated  us  on  his  account.  We  owe  every 
thing  to  that  kid;  he's  wonderful.  I  made  Morin  inde 
pendent  for  life,  but  it  wasn't  the  money,  it  was  Jacket 
who  induced  him  to  bring  us  clear  to  Turiguano.  He 

354 


WHAT    HAPPENED   AT   SUNDOWN 

landed  us  one  night,  this  side  of  the  Moron  trocha. 
Since  then  we've  waded  swamps  to  our  armpits,  we've 
fought  the  jungle  and  chewed  bark — but  we're  here." 
Johnnie  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  money  to  hire  schooners  and 
corrupt  captains?"  Branch  inquired.  "You  were  broke 
when  I  knew  you." 

O'Reilly  hesitated;  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 
"We  found  the  Varona  treasure." 

Norine  uttered  a  cry.     "Not  Don  Este'ban's  treasure?" 

"Exactly.  It  was  in  the  well  where  young  Este"ban 
told  us  it  was." 

"Oh,  Johnnie!  You  mean  thing!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 
"You  promised — " 

"You'll  have  a  chance  to  dig,"  he  laughed.  "We 
couldn't  begin  to  bring  all  of  it ;  we  merely  took  the  jewels 
and  the  deeds  and  what  money  our  clothes  would  hold. 
The  rest—" 

' '  Wait !  Wait! ' '  Branch  wailed,  clapping  his  hand  to  his 
head.  "'Merely  the  jewels  and  the  deeds  and  what 
money  our  clothes  would  hold?'  Bullets!  Why,  one 
suit  of  clothes  will  hold  all  the  money  in  the  world !  Am 
I  dreaming?  'Money!'  I  haven't  seen  a  bona-fide  dol 
lar  since  I  put  on  long  pants.  What  does  money  look 
like  ?  Is  it  round  or —  ?' ' 

Johnnie  produced  from  his  pocket  a  handful  of  coins. 

Branch's  eyes  bulged,  he  touched  a  gold  piece  respect 
fully,  weighed  it  carefully,  then  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  He 
rubbed  it  against  his  cheeks  and  in  his  hair;  he  placed  it 
between  his  teeth  and  bit  it. 

"  It's  real!"  he  cried.     "  Now  let  me  look  at  the  jewels." 

"Rosa  has  them.  She's  wearing  them  on  her  back. 
Hunched  backs  are  lucky,  you  know;  hers  is  worth  a 
fortune." 

"Why,  this  beats  the  Arabian  Nights!"  Norine  gasped. 

"It  beats — "  Branch  paused,  then  wagged  his  head 

355 


RAINBOW'S    END 

warningly  at  the  girl.  "I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it  and 
you  mustn't.  Johnnie  read  this  story  on  his  yachting- 
trip.  It  couldn't  happen.  In  the  first  place  there  isn't 
any  more  money  in  the  world;  mints  have  quit  coining 
it.  Why,  if  I  wrote  such  a  yarn — " 

"It  is  almost  unbelievable,"  Johnnie  acknowledged. 
"I  found  Aladdin's  cave,  but" — his  face  paled  and  he 
stirred  uneasily — "it  was  nearly  the  death  of  all  of  us. 
I'll  have  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  now;  I've  only  told 
you  the  half." 

While  his  hearers  listened,  petrified  with  amazement  and 
doubting  their  ears,  he  recited  the  incidents  of  that  un 
forgettable  night  on  La  Cumbre:  how  Cobo  came,  and  of 
the  trap  he  sprung;  how  Jacket  stole  upon  the  assassin 
while  he  knelt,  and  of  the  blow  he  struck. 

When  Johnnie  had  finished  there  was  a  long  moment  of 
silence.  Then  Norine  quavered,  tremulously:  "That 
boy !  That  blessed  boy !' ' 

Branch  murmured,  feebly:  "Dash  water  in  my  face,  or 
you'll  lose  me.  I —  You — "  He  found  no  words  to 
express  his  feelings  and  finally  voiced  his  favorite  ex 
pletive. 

"It's  all  too  weirdly  improbable,"  O'Reilly  smiled,  "but 
ask  Rosa  or  Jacket — the  boy  is  bursting  to  tell  some  one. 
He  nearly  died  because  he  couldn't  brag  about  it  to 
Captain  Morin,  and  there  won't  be  any  holding  him  now. 
I'm  afraid  he'll  tip  off  the  news  about  that  treasure  in  spite 
of  all  my  warnings.  Those  jewels  are  a  temptation;  I 
won't  rest  easy  until  they're  safely  locked  up  in  some  good 
vault.  Now  then,  I've  told  you  everything,  but  I'm 
dying  for  news.  Tell  me  about  yourselves,  about  Este*ban. 
I  expected  to  find  him  well.  What  ails  him?" 

"Oh,  Johnnie!"  Norine  began.  "He's  very  ill.  He 
isn't  getting  well."  Something  in  her  tone  caused 
O'Reilly  to  glance  at  her  sharply.  Branch  nodded  and 
winked  significantly,  and  the  girl  confessed  with  a  blush: 

356 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  SUNDOWN 

"Yes!  You  told  me  I'd  surrender  to  some  poor,  broken 
fellow.  I'm  very  happy  and — I'm  very  sad." 

"Hunh!  He's  far  from  poor  and  broken,"  Leslie  cor 
rected;  "with  a  half-interest  in  a  humpful  of  diamonds 
and  a  gold-plated  well,  according  to  Baron  Munchausen, 
here.  This  is  the  Cuban  leap-year,  Johnnie;  Norine  pro 
posed  to  him  and  he  was  too  far  gone  to  refuse.  You 
came  just  in  time  to  interrupt  a  drum-head  marriage." 

"  Is  it  true  ?' '  When  Norine  acquiesced,  O'Reilly  pressed 
her  two  hands  in  his.  "I'm  glad — so  glad." 

Tears  started  to  the  girl's  eyes;  her  voice  broke 
wretchedly.  "Help  me,  Johnnie!  Help  me  to  get  him 
home — " 

He  patted  her  reassuringly  and  she  took  comfort  from 
his  hearty  promise. 

' '  Of  course  I  will.  We'll  take  him  and  Rosa  away  where 
they  can  forget  Cuba  and  all  the  misery  it  has  caused 
them.  We'll  make  him  well — don't  worry.  Meanwhile, 
at  this  moment  Rosa  needs  food  and  clothing,  and  so 
do  I." 

As  the  three  friends  walked  up  the  street  they  dis 
covered  Jacket  holding  the  center  of  an  interested  crowd 
of  his  countrymen.  It  was  the  boy's  moment  and  he  was 
making  the  most  of  it.  Swollen  with  self-importance,  he 
was  puffing  with  relish  at  a  gigantic  gift  cigar. 

" I  exaggerate  nothing,"  he  was  saying,  loudly.  "  O'Reil 
ly  will  tell  you  that  I  killed  Cobo,  alone  and  unassisted. 
The  man  is  gone,  he  has  disappeared,  and  all  Matanzas 
is  mystified.  This  is  the  hand  that  did  it;  yonder  is  the 
weapon,  with  that  butcher's  blood  still  on  it.  That  knife 
will  be  preserved  in  the  museum  at  Habana,  along  with 
my  statue."  Jacket  spied  his  chief  witness  and  called  to 
him.  "  Tell  these  good  people  who  killed  Cobo.  Was  it 
Narciso  Villar?" 

"  It  was,"  O'Reilly  smiled.     "  The  fellow  is  dead." 

There  was  renewed  murmuring.  The  crowd  pressed 
357 


RAINBOW'S    END 

Jacket  closer;  they  passed  the  knife  from  hand  to  hand. 
Doubters  fell  silent;  the  boy  swelled  visibly.  Bantam- 
like  he  strutted  before  their  admiring  glances,  and  when 
his  benefactor  had  passed  safely  out  of  hearing  he  went  on: 

"God!  What  a  fight  we  had!  It  was  like  those  com 
bats  of  the  gladiators  you  hear  about.  The  man  was 
brave  enough;  there's  no  denying  his  courage,  which  was 
like  that  of  ten  men — like  that  of  a  fierce  bull;  but  I — 
I  was  superb,  magnificent :  The  man  bellowed,  he  roared, 
he  grunted;  he  charged  me,  flinging  the  earth  high  with 
his  heels,  but  I  was  banderillero,  picador,  and  matador  in 
one.  I  was  here,  I  was  there,  I  was  everywhere;  so 
swiftly  did  I  move  that  no  eye  could  follow  me."  Jacket 
illustrated  his  imaginary  movements  with  agile  leaps  and 
bounds.  "The  terror  of  his  name  frightened  me,  I'll 
admit,  but  it  lent  me  a  desperate  courage,  too.  I  thought 
of  the  brave  men,  the  good  women,  the  innocent  children 
he  had  slain,  and  I  fell  upon  him  from  this  side,  from  that 
side,  from  the  front,  from  the  rear.  I  pricked  him,  shout 
ing:  'That  for  the  people  of  Las  Villas!  This  for  the 
women  of  the  San  Juan.  And  once  again  for  the  babies 
you  have  killed.'"  Jacket  carried  out  his  pantomime  by 
prodding  with  a  rigid  finger  first  one,  then  another  of  his 
listeners.  "Oh,  he  went  mad,  like  a  bull,  indeed,  but  I 
was  another  Rafael  Guerra.  He  shed  rivers  of  blood,  the 
ground  grew  slippery  and  the  grass  became  red.  He 
stood  rocking  in  his  tracks,  finally;  his  breath  was  like  a 
hurricane.  He  was  exhausted,  he  was  covered  with  foam, 
his  limbs  were  made  of  lead.  It  was  my  moment.  'For 
all  your  sins !'  I  cried,  and  with  that  I  drove  yonder  blade 
through  his  heart  and  out  between  his  shoulders,  thus! 
My  brothers,  his  flesh  was  rotten,  and  the  steel  clove  it  as 
if  it  were  butter." 

Jacket  was  more  than  gratified  at  the  effect  of  his 
recital,  for  children  screamed,  women  shuddered,  and  men 
turned  shocked  eyes  upon  one  another.  He  realized  that 

358 


WHAT   HAPPENED   AT    SUNDOWN 

with  a  little  further  practice  and  a  more  diligent  attention 
to  detail  he  could  horrify  the  stoutest-hearted  listener,  nay, 
cause  hysterical  women  to  swoon.  He  concluded  his 
account  in  a  studiously  careless  tone;  "O'Reilly  came,  too 
late,  but  he  helped  me  to  bury  the  offal.  We  flung  it 
head  first  into  an  old  well  and  dumped  rocks  upon  it. 
There  it  will  lie  until  Cuba  is  free.  That,  my  friends,  was 
the  end  of  Cobo,  exactly  as  it  happened." 

O'Reilly  saw  little  of  his  sweetheart  that  day,  for  Norine 
promptly  bore  the  girl  off  to  her  own  quarters  and  there 
attended  to  her  needs,  the  most  pressing  of  which  was 
clothing.  Norine's  wardrobe  offered  little  to  choose  from, 
but  between  them  they  reduced  a  nurse's  uniform  to  fit 
the  smaller  figure.  Meanwhile,  with  a  rapidity  and  a 
thoroughness  delightful  to  both  of  them,  the  two  girls 
came  to  know  each  other. 

While  O'Reilly  was  similarly  engaged  in  making  himself 
presentable,  he  and  Branch  talked  earnestly,  with  the  re 
sult  that  they  repaired  later  to  General  Gomez. 

The  general  welcomed  them;  he  listened  with  interest 
to  O'Reilly's  story  of  the  rescue,  and  to  the  account  of 
conditions  in  Matanzas.  O'Reilly  concluded  by  saying: 

"I've  done  what  I  came  to  do,  sir,  but  Miss  Varona  is 
badly  shaken  by  all  she  has  been  through.  She's  very 
nervous  and  far  from  well.  Este"ban,  too,  isn't  recovering." 

General  Gomez  nodded.  "Miss  Evans  declares  he 
must  have  a  change,  and  we  have  arranged  to  send  him 
out  of  the  country.  His  sister,  poor  child,  should  go, 
too." 

"When  can  they  leave?" 

"Who  knows?  Not  for  some  time,  certainly.  Expedi 
tions  are  irregular." 

"They  should  go  at  once,"  O'Reilly  said,  positively. 
"That's  why  we  came  to  see  you.  Let  us — Branch  and 
me — take  all  three  of  them  to  the  United  States." 

"You,  too,  El  Demonio?"  inquired  the  general. 
359 


RAINBOW'S    END 

"Yes,  sir;  if  you  please." 

"But  how?  How  can  you  take  two  women  and  a  sick 
man — 

' '  We'll  manage  somehow, ' '  O'Reilly  declared.  ' '  It  isn't 
far  across  to  the  Bahama  Banks." 

"True.  That's  the  route  of  our  underground — our 
undersea — railroad.  As  you  probably  know,  there  is  a 
venturesome  countryman  of  yours  who  carries  our  des 
patches  by  that  way.  He  devised  the  scheme,  to  keep  us 
in  touch  with  our  friends  in  New  York,  and  he  has  done  us 
great  service.  He  comes  and  goes  in  a  small  boat,  but 
how  or  when  nobody  knows.  The  Spanish  patrols  are  on 
the  lookout  for  him,  and  there's  a  price  on  his  head,  so 
you  won't  find  it  easy  or  safe  to  cross.  Beware  that 
you  are  not  mistaken  for  him." 

"Do  you  mean  that  we  may  go?"  Branch  eagerly  in 
quired. 

The  general  hesitated,  whereupon  O'Reilly  spoke  up: 
"For  my  part,  I'll  agree  to  come  back  if  you  so  desire." 

Gomez  shook  his  white  head.  "No!  You  came  to 
find  and  to  save  your  fiancee,  and  you  volunteered  to 
serve  with  us  while  you  were  doing  so.  We  have  no  de 
sire  to  keep  any  man  against  his  will.  Some  one  must 
escort  Miss  Evans,  who  is  our  guest.  Why  not  you  two? 
She  has  every  confidence  in  you,  and  if  she  chooses  to 
risk  this  enterprise  rather  than  wait  until  we  can  guarantee 
her  an  easier  trip  we  shall  not  restrain  her.  I  shall  see 
that  you  reach  the  coast  safe  and  sound;  beyond  that 
you  must  trust  in  God." 

Branch  was  immensely  relieved;  he  joined  volubly  in 
O'Reilly's  thanks  and  became  careless  of  his  arm,  which 
no  longer  appeared  to  pain  him.  Peace  with  honor,  it 
seemed,  was  all  that  he  desired. 

"I  was  looking  forward  to  an  interesting  ceremony  this 
afternoon,"  Gomez  went  on.  "Has  your  arrival  changed 
the  plans?" 

360 


WHAT   HAPPENED   AT   SUNDOWN 

"  Oh  no,  sir!"  O'Reilly  said,  quickly.  "  I'd  like  to  make 
it  doubly  interesting,  if  Miss  Varona  will  consent  to  such 
short  notice." 

"Bravo!  You  have  a  way  of  doing  the  unexpected. 
Twin  births,  a  double  wedding!  Why  not?  The  sight 
of  a  little  happiness  will  be  good  for  ail  of  us;  we're  apt 
to  forget  that  life  and  the  big  world  are  going  on  as  usual. 
I  don't  think  Miss  Varona  will  have  it  in  her  heart  to 
refuse  you  anything." 

The  old  soldier  was  right.  Rosa  did  not  gainsay  her 
lover,  and  toward  sundown  the  city  among  the  leaves 
witnessed  an  unaccustomed  scene. 

The  women  of  the  camp,  delighted  at  an  opportunity  of 
serving  Norine,  had  transformed  Este"ban's  poor  quarters 
into  a  tiny  bower  of  wild  blossoms  and  green  leaves; 
they  likewise  gathered  flowers  for  the  two  brides-to-be, 
then  joined  with  nimble  fingers  in  adorning  their  costumes. 
When  the  girls  came  down  the  street,  hand  in  hand,  they 
received  an  ovation  from  men  and  women  alike.  Norine 
was  pleased;  she  smiled  and  blushed  and  ran  the  gantlet 
bravely  enough.  But  Rosa,  sadly  overwrought  by  the 
day's  excitement,  was  upon  the  verge  of  a  collapse. 
Nevertheless  she  was  happy;  her  eyes  were  shining,  her 
face  was  transfigured,  her  hand,  when  she  took  O'Reilly's, 
was  cold  and  tremulous,  but  it  warmed  and  grew  steady 
under  his  grasp. 

Many  people — all  Cubitas,  in  fact — had  assembled  to 
witness  the  romantic  double  wedding,  but  few  actually 
succeeded,  for  Este"ban's  hut  was  too  small  to  accommo 
date  more  than  the  highest  officials  of  the  Provisional 
Government,  so  the  others  were  forced  to  wait  outside 
in  the  gathering  dusk.  And  those  Ministers,  those 
secretaries  of  departments,  those  generals  and  colonels, 
what  a  motley  crowd  they  formed!  There  was  scarcely  a 
whole  garment  among  them.  They  were  sunburnt, 
wind-browned,  earnest  men,  the  old  ones  grayed  and 
24  361 


RAINBOW'S    END 

grizzled  from  worry,  the  younger  ones  wasted  from 
hardships  in  the  field.  But  out  of  their  rags  and  poverty 
shone  a  stately  courtesy  and  consideration.  They  were 
gentlemen,  men  of  culture  and  refinement,  the  best  and 
oldest  blood  of  Cuba.  Both  Norine  and  Johnnie  had 
earned  their  gratitude,  and  the  story  of  the  Varona  twins 
was  typical  of  the  island,  nowadays,  so  they  unbent  and 
there  were  warm  congratulaitons,  well-turned  Latin 
pleasantries,  elaborate  compliments  upon  the  beauty  of 
the  brides. 

Then,  afterward,  there  was  a  surprise — a  genuine  sur 
prise — in  the  form  of  a  banquet  at  the  big  mess  shelter, 
with  an  orchestra  concealed  behind  a  screen  of  fresh-cut 
palm-leaves  stuck  into  the  soft  earth.  This  was  the 
men's  part  of  the  celebration, .  the  official  compliment  to 
Cuba's  guest.  It  was  a  poorly  furnished  banquet,  with  a 
service  of  tin  and  granite  ware  and  chipped  china,  and 
there  was  little  to  eat,  but  the  true  spirit  of  festivity  was 
present.  The  Lone  Star  emblem  of  the  new  Republic 
was  draped  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  there  were 
many  speeches. 

Norine's  protests  at  leaving  Este"ban  went  unheeded, 
and  Leslie  Branch  escorted  her  in  place  of  the  bridegroom, 
who  lay  blissfully  dreaming  in  his  hammock.  Her  amaze 
ment  passed  all  bounds  when,  from  the  hidden  recess 
behind  the  palm-leaves,  came  not  the  music  of  man 
dolins  and  guitars,  but  the  strains  of  a  balanced  orchestra 
under  the  leadership  of  Cuba's  most  eminent  band 
master.  Whence  the  players  had  come,  where  they  had 
found  their  instruments,  was  a  mystery,  but  they  played 
well,  divinely,  so  it  seemed  to  the  music-hungry  diners. 

Such  a  banquet  as  that  was!  Some  one  had  contrib 
uted  a  demijohn  of  wine,  and  there  was  coffee,  too,  at  the 
last,  made  from  the  berries  of  some  jungle  plant.  The 
chef,  once  famous  at  the  Inglaterra,  was  forced  to  appear 
and  take  homage  for  this  final  triumph. 

362 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  SUNDOWN 

Rosa,  very  dainty  in  her  borrowed  nurse's  uniform,  was 
round-eyed,  timid;  she  evoked  much  admiration,  but 
when  she  was  addressed  as  Sefiora  O'Reilly  she  blushed  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair  and  shrank  close  to  her  husband's 
side.  To  feel  herself  secure,  to  see  on  all  sides  friendly 
faces,  to  know  that  these  fine  men  and  women — there  were 
numerous  good  Cuban  matrons  present — were  her  own 
people  and  meant  her  well,  was  almost  unbelievable. 
She  had  so  long  been  hidden,  she  had  so  long  feared  every 
stranger's  glance,  it  was  not  strange  that  she  felt  ill  at 
ease,  and  that  the  banquet  was  a  grave  ordeal  for  her. 

Branch  proved  to  be  a  happy  choice  as  Este*ban's 
proxy,  for  he  relieved  Norine's  anxiety  and  smothered  her 
apprehensions.  When  called  upon  to  speak  he  made  a 
hit  by  honestly  expressing  his  relief  at  escaping  the 
further  hazards  of  this  war.  Prompted  by  some  freakish 
perversity,  and  perhaps  unduly  stimulated  by  the  wine 
he  had  drunk,  he  made  open  confession  of  his  amazing 
cowardice. 

O'Reilly  interpreted  for  him  and  well-nigh  every  sen 
tence  evoked  laughter.  El  Demonio's  heroic  reputation 
had  preceded  him,  therefore  his  unsmiling  effort  to  ridicule 
himself  struck  the  audience  as  a  new  and  excruciatingly 
funny  phase  of  his  eccentricity.  Encountering  this  blank 
wall  of  disbelief,  Branch  waxed  more  earnest,  more  con 
vincing;  in  melancholy  detail  he  described  his  arrant 
timidity,  his  cringing  fear  of  pain,  his  abhorrence  of  blood 
and  steel.  His  elongated  face  was  genuinely  solemn,  his 
voice  trembled,  his  brow  grew  damp  with  unpleasant 
memories;  he  seemed  bent  upon  clearing  his  conscience 
once  for  all.  But  he  succeeded  only  in  convulsing  his 
hearers.  Women  giggled,  men  wiped  tears  from  their 
eyes  and  declared  he  was  a  consummate  actor  and  the 
rarest,  the  most  fantastic  humorist  they  had  ever  listened 
to.  They  swore  that  Cuba  had  lost,  in  him,  a  peerless 
champion.  When  he  had  finished  they  cheered  him 

363 


RAINBOW'S    END 

loudly  and  the  orchestra  broke  into  a  rousing  military 
march. 

Leslie  turned  to  voice  his  irritation  and  surprise  to 
Norine,  but  she  had  slipped  away,  so  he  glared  at  O'Reilly, 
wondering  how  the  latter  had  so  artfully  managed  to 
mistranslate  his  remarks. 

When  Rosa  and  O'Reilly  returned  to  Este"ban's  cabin 
they  found  Norine  ahead  of  them.  She  was  kneeling  be 
side  the  sick  man's  hammock,  and  through  the  doorway 
came  the  low,  intimate  murmur  of  their  voices.  Rosa 
drew  her  husband  away,  whispering,  happily: 

"He  will  get  well.  God  and  that  wonderful  girt  won't 
let  him  die." 


XXX 

THE  OWL  AND  THE   PUSSY-CAT 

HP  HE  journey  to  the  coast  was  made  by  easy  stages  and 
1  Est£ban  stood  it  fairly  well.  The  excitement  wore 
upon  him,  to  be  sure,  and  the  jolting  of  his  litter  was 
trying,  but  Norine  was  always  at  his  side  where  he  could 
see  her,  and  Rosa  joined  in  the  tender  care  of  him.  Guides, 
horses,  and  a  tent  for  the  sick  man  had  been  supplied, 
and  over  these  O'Reilly  exercised  a  jealous  watchfulness, 
ably  seconded  by  Branch.  For  once,  at  least,  the  latter 
lent  himself  to  useful  ends  and  shirked  no  duties.  His 
wounded  arm  recovered  miraculously  and  he  exercised  it 
freely;  he  skirmished  industriously  for  food  and  he  en 
livened  the  journey  by  a  rare  display  of  good  spirits. 

Jacket,  of  course,  went  along.  Upon  the  announcement 
of  O'Reilly's  intended  departure  for  the  States  he  had 
promptly  abandoned  Cuba  to  her  fate.  He  foreswore  her 
utterly  and  declared  himself  a  loyal  American  citizen. 
He  made  it  plain  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  that 
where  O'Reilly  went,  there  went  he,  for  they  were  one  and 
indivisible.  It  dismayed  him  not  at  all  to  turn  his  feet 
to  new  pathways,  his  face  toward  new  adventures. 

Relying  upon  the  best  information  obtainable  at  Cubitas, 
O'Reilly  had  counted  upon  securing  a  sailboat  from  a 
certain  fisherman  whose  sympathies  were  known  to  be 
loyal,  but  in  this  he  was  disappointed.  The  party  arrived 
at  its  destination,  a  tiny  clearing  on  an  unfrequented  part 
of  the  north  shore,  only  to  find  it  deserted  and  already 
grown  to  weeds.  The  house  was  empty,  the  boats  were 

365 


RAINBOW'S    END 

gone — all  but  one  old  hulk,  too  rotten  to  warrant  moving, 
which  lay  high  up  on  the  sand,  its  planks  worm-eaten, 
its  seams  wide  spread  by  the  sun. 

Having  established  Este*ban  in  the  hut,  O'Reilly  took 
counsel  with  his  Cubans,  but  gained  little  satisfaction  from 
them.  They  knew  of  no  other  fisherman  in  this  vicinity; 
the  nearest  towns  were  in  Spanish  hands;  they  advised  a 
return  to  Cubitas  at  once.  This  O'Reilly  would  not 
listen  to.  Sending  them  in  one  direction,  he  took  Leslie 
and  Jacket  and  rode  away  in  the  other.  The  trio  followed 
the  beach  for  several  miles  until  they  came  to  a  vast 
mangrove  swamp  which  turned  them  inland.  This  they 
skirted  until  the  jungle  became  impassable  and  they  were 
in  danger  of  losing  themselves;  they  returned  at  dusk, 
having  encountered  no  human  being  and  having  discovered 
neither  roads  nor  houses. 

The  other  expedition  reported  slightly  better  successes; 
it  had  located  a  small  plantation  some  distance  to  the 
east,  the  owner  of  which  had  warned  them  against  explor 
ing  farther,  inasmuch  as  a  strong  Spanish  patrol,  on  the 
lookout  for  that  American  despatch-bearer  from  Nassau, 
was  operating  in  his  neighborhood.  It  was  these  very 
troops,  he  announced,  who  had  driven  the  fisherman  from 
his  home;  he  was  sure  there  were  no  boats  anywhere 
within  reach. 

O'Reilly  was  in  a  quandary.  He  gravely  doubted 
Est6ban's  ability  to  stand  the  rough  return  journey,  and 
when  he  spoke  to  Norine  of  turning  back  she  was  panic- 
stricken  at  the  suggestion. 

"No,  no!"  she  cried,  anxiously.  "We  must  get  him 
away.  Oh,  Johnnie,  every  day  we  lose  by  waiting  lessens 
his  chances!  His  heart  is  set  on  going  through  and  it 
would — kill  him  to  go  back." 

"Then  I  guess  we'll  have  to  go  through,"  he  smiled. 

For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance  Norine  lost  con 
trol  of  herself. 

366 


THE   OWL   AND   THE   PUSSY-CAT 

"We  simply  must  find  a  boat.  All  he  needs  is  proper 
care,  proper  food,  and  medical  attention.  Here  we  can 
get  nothing.  Why,  the  disappointment  alone — "  Her 
voice  failed  her,  tears  started  to  her  eyes,  and  she  began 
to  tremble  wretchedly.  "  If  he —  If  I — lose  him  I'll  die, 
too,"  she  sobbed. 

O'Reilly  tried  to  comfort  her  and  she  bowed  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"Promise  that  you  won't  go  back,"  she  implored  him. 

"Very  well,  if  you'll  consent  to  risk  this  miserable  tub 
we  found  on  the  beach — " 

"I'll  risk  anything — a  raft,  even." 

"It  is  large  enough  to  carry  us  if  we  can  manage  to 
make  it  hold  water,  but  it  won't  be  safe.  The  weather  is 
good  at  this  season  and  it  shouldn't  take  us  long  to  run 
across  to  Andros  if  we  have  luck.  If  we  don't  have 
luck—" 

Norine  dried  her  eyes.  "What  would  you  do  if  you 
were  alone?  Would  you  dare  try  it?" 

He  hesitated,  then  confessed,  "I  think  I  would,  but — " 

"Is  there  an  even  chance  of  our  getting  across?" 

"Perhaps.     It  all  depends  upon  the  weather." 

"Can't  we— build  a  boat?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Even  if  we  had  lumber  and  tools 
it  would  take  too  long.  Ten  miles  to  the  east  there  are 
Spaniards.  We  must  do  one  thing  or  the  other  quickly, 
before  they  learn  we're  here." 

"Then  let's  go  on.     I'm  sure  Rosa  will  agree." 

Rosa  did  agree.  When  her  husband  put  the  question 
fairly  to  her  she  showed  by  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks  and  by 
the  rekindling  light  of  terror  in  her  eyes  how  desperately 
she  feared  remaining  longer  in  this  land  of  hate  and 
persecution.  "Don't  turn  back,"  she  cried.  "I'm  not 
the  girl  I  was.  I've  endured  so  much  here  that — I'm 
always  in  fear.  Anything  would  be  better  than  going 
back." 

367 


RAINBOW'S    END 

When  morning  came  O'Reilly  made  a  closer  examination 
of  the  abandoned  boat.  The  result  was  not  encouraging, 
and  when  he  told  Leslie  of  his  intention  to  make  use  of 
it  the  latter  stared  at  him  in  open  amazement. 

"Why,  we'll  all  be  drowned!"  Branch  declared. 

"You  can  return  to  Cubitas  if  you  wish." 

"Yes,  and  fight  some  more!  No,  thank  you!  I've  got 
a  hunch  that  I'll  be  killed  by  the  very  next  gun  I  see." 

"Then  you'd  better  risk  the  sharks." 

Jacket,  who  was  conducting  an  independent  examina 
tion  of  the  craft,  made  an  encouraging  report.  "Ho! 
I'd  go  'round  the  world  in  this  boat,"  said  he.  "She's 
rotten,  and  you  can  stick  your  finger  through  her,  but 
fish  have  no  fingers.  When  the  water  comes  in  we'll  dip 
it  out." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  with  us?"  Johnnie  eyed  the  news 
paper  man  curiously. 

"I—  Y-yes!"  Branch  gasped.  "I'll  go,  but  it's  a 
shame  to  lose  all  of  Rosa's  diamonds." 

O'Reilly  and  one  of  the  guides  rode  away  to  the  farm 
house  discovered  on  the  previous  afternoon,  and  returned 
in  a  few  hours  with  all  the  tools  they  could  find,  together 
with  a  bucket  of  tar  and  a  coil  of  galvanized  wire.  Then 
work  began. 

The  wire,  cut  into  short  pieces,  served  as  nails  and 
staples  with  which  to  draw  together  the  gaping  seams. 
Old  rags  from  the  house  and  parts  of  the  men's  cloth 
ing  supplied  calking,  upon  which  the  tar  was  smeared. 
While  one  man  shaped  mast  and  oars,  another  cut  Este- 
ban's  shelter  tent  into  a  sail,  and  fitted  it.  A  stiff,  sun- 
dried  cowhide  was  wet,  then  stretched  and  nailed  to  the 
gunwales  at  the  bow,  forming  a  sort  of  forward  deck  to 
shelter  the  sick  man  from  the  sun  and  rain.  Jacket 
climbed  the  near-by  cocoa-palms  and  threw  down  a 
plentiful  supply  of  nuts  for  food  and  water  on  the  voyage. 

With  so  many  hands  the  work  went  fast,  and  late  that 
368 


THE   OWL   AND   THE    PUSSY-CAT 

evening  the  crazy  craft  was  launched.  It  was  necessary 
to  handle  her  gingerly,  and  when  she  took  the  water  she 
leaked  abominably.  But  during  the  night  she  swelled  and 
in  the  morning  it  was  possible  to  bail  her  out. 

O'Reilly  had  to  acknowledge  himself  but  poorly  pleased 
with  the  boat.  Branch  called  her  a  coffin  and  declared 
it  was  suicide  to  venture  to  sea  in  her,  an  opinion  shared 
by  the  Cubans,  but  the  girls  were  enchanted.  To  them 
this  fragile  bark  looked  stout  and  worthy ;  they  were  in  a 
fever  to  be  gone. 

On  the  second  afternoon  the  trade-wind  died  to  a 
gentle  zephyr,  so  the  cocoanuts  and  other  food  were 
quickly  put  aboard,  a  bed  of  bows  was  rigged  beneath 
the  rawhide  forecastle  and  Este"ban  was  laid  upon  it. 
Then  adieux  were  said  and  a  start  was  made. 

From  the  point  of  leaving  it  was  perhaps  five  miles 
across  the  sound  to  the  fringe  of  keys  which  in  this  neigh 
borhood  bordered  the  old  Bahama  Channel  with  its  un- 
plumbed  depths  of  blue  water.  Here  it  was  calm,  so 
the  run  was  soon  made.  The  boat  handled  well  enough, 
all  things  considered;  nevertheless,  to  O'Reilly,  her  navi 
gator,  it  was  an  anxious  hour.  Not  only  was  he  forced  to 
keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  blockading  gunboats,  but  he 
feared  he  was  doing  wrong  in  committing  his  precious 
freight  to  the  uncertainties  of  the  Atlantic.  Even  had  he 
been  alone,  with  a  crew  of  able  sailors  under  him,  this 
voyage  would  have  daunted  him,  for  it  was  without  doubt 
the  wildest  adventure  in  which  he  had  ever  participated. 
When  he  hinted  at  these  fears  and  put  the  matter  before 
his  companions  for  a  final  test,  Branch  refused  to  speak, 
but  Este"ban  and  the  girls  were  earnestly  in  favor  of 
pushing  on.  Jacket,  of  course,  loudly  seconded  them. 

At  sunset  they  entered  a  pass  and  ran  between  low 
mangrove  banks.  The  tide  was  ebbing  and  it  hurried 
them  through  and  out  into  the  open  sea,  where  they  felt 
the  lift  of  the  mighty  ocean  swell.  Over  these  slow  un- 

369 


RAINBOW'S    END 

dulations  the  sailboat  plowed,  heading  toward  the  empty 
northern  horizon,  with  the  kindling  Pole  Star  as  a  beacon. 
The  sky  was  clear,  the  sea  was  gently  roughened  by  the 
night  breeze,  the  constellations  grew  bright  and  appeared 
to  hang  low. 

When  the  coast-line  of  Cuba  had  become  a  blur  astern 
Rosa  crept  back  and  seated  herself  beside  her  husband. 

"I  breathe  freely  for  the  first  time  since  that  day  when 
Don  Mario  came  to  offer  me  marriage,"  she  told  him. 
"The  past  is  beginning  to  seem  like  a  bad,  bad  dream  and 
I  feel  a  great  hope,  a  great  gladness.  I  am  reborn, 
O'Rail-ye." 

"A  few  hours  more  and  we  can  all  breathe  easy."  He 
smiled  down  at  her.  She  laid  her  small  palm  over  his 
fingers  which  grasped  the  steering-oar,  whereupon  he 
cried  with  pretended  sternness:  "Avast  there!  Don't 
distract  the  attention  of  the  skipper  or  he'll  sail  his  boat 
in  circles.  Look  out  or  he'll  send  you  below." 

Rosa  persisted  mutinously,  so  he  punished  her  with  a 
kiss  planted  fairly  upon  her  pouting  lips,  whereupon  she 
nestled  closer  to  him.  "How  much  I  love  you,"  she 
whispered.  "But  I  never  can  tell  you,  for  we  are  never 
alone.  Was  there  ever  such  a  courtship,  such  a  marriage, 
and  such  a  wedding  journey  as  ours?" 

"We're  the  owl  and  the  pussy-cat  who  went  to  sea  in  a 
beautiful  pea-green  boat,  'With  plenty  of  honey  and  lots 
of  money,  wrapped  up  in  a  ten-pound  note.'  Some  day 
when  we've  settled  down  in  our  Harlem  flat,  and  I'm 
working  hard,  we'll  look  back  on  this  and  consider  it  ro 
mantic,  thrilling.  Maybe  we'll  long  for  excitement." 

"Not  I,"  Rosa  shivered.  "To  be  safe,  to  have  you  all 
to  myself  where  I  can  spoil  you,  that  will  be  excitement 
enough." 

"We'll  rent  that  little  apartment  I  looked  at,  or  one 
just  like  it." 

"But,  O'Rail-ye,  we're  rich." 
370 


THE   OWL   AND   THE    PUSSY-CAT 

"I — I'd  forgotten  that.  Then  let's  pretend  to  be  poor. 
Think  how  our  neighbors  would  talk  about  that  pretty 
Mrs.  O'Reilly  on  the  fourth  floor,  and  her  magnificent 
jewels.  They'd  swear  I  was  a  smuggler." 

As  the  evening  lengthened  and  the  boat  forged  steadily 
ahead  the  two  sat  murmuring  happily.  Forward,  another 
bride  and  groom  were  similarly  engaged.  Branch  and 
Jacket  took  turns  bailing. 

It  proved  to  be  a  long,  long  night,  for  the  boat,  though 
roomy,  was  uncomfortable.  O'Reilly  steered  as  straight 
a  course  as  he  could  without  compass,  but  toward  morning 
he  saw  that  the  sky  was  growing  overcast  and  his  appre 
hensions  stirred  anew.  Daylight  brought  an  increased 
breeze  which  heeled  the  boat  further.  She  made  better 
speed,  but  she  likewise  took  more  water  through  her 
seams  and  it  became  necessary  to  lend  Leslie  and  Jacket 
a  hand  with  the  bailing.  The  deep  channel  was  far 
behind  now,  and  they  were  on  the  shallow  Bahama 
Banks;  beneath  them  they  could  glimpse  beds  of  sponges, 
patches  of  coral,  white  bottom  with  occasional  forests  of 
brilliant-hued  sea  fans.  The  horizon  still  remained  vacant 
and  the  tip  of  Andros  lay  far  to  the  north. 

Fortunately  the  haze  was  not  thick  enough  to  wholly 
obscure  the  sun  and  so  O'Reilly  was  enabled  to  hold  his 
course.  But  he  did  not  like  the  look  of  things. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  sea  was  tumbling  and  the  worm-eaten 
hulk  was  laboring.  It  became  necessary  to  shorten  sail. 
Soon  the  bottom  of  the  boat  was  awash  and  Est£ban  lay 
in  a  pool  of  brine.  Even  when  the  girls  helped  to  dip  it 
out  they  could  not  lower  its  level.  The  wind  freshened 
steadily;  all  hands  worked  desperately,  wet  to  the  skin. 

In  time  there  came  a  spiteful  drizzle  which  completely 
hid  the  sun  and  left  no  indication  of  the  course  except  the 
direction  whence  drove  the  rain. 

No  one  spoke  now.  Even  Este"ban  lay  silent,  shivering 
miserably  upon  his  sodden  bed.  In  obedience  to  O'Reilly's 

37i 


RAINBOW'S    END 

command  Jacket  flung  overboard  all  but  a  half-dozen  of 
the  remaining  cocoanuts.  Rosa  finally  straightened  her 
aching  back  and  smiled  at  her  husband. 

"Are  we  going  down?"  she  asked. 

"Oh  no!  This  is  merely  a  squall,"  he  told  her,  with  an 
assumption  of  confidence  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

Johnnie  tried  to  reason  himself  into  a  more  hopeful 
frame  of  mind.  He  assured  himself  that  he  and  his 
companions  had  survived  too  many  perils  to  become  the 
prey  of  an  idle  breeze  like  this;  he  argued  that  no  fate 
could  be  so  cruel  as  to  cheat  them  when  they  were  so 
close  to  safety.  But  this  manful  effort  brought  him  little 
comfort  in  the  face  of  the  chilling  rain  and  with  the 
whitecaps  curling  higher. 

Deliverance  came  suddenly,  and  from  the  least-expected 
quarter.  Out  of  the  mist  to  starboard  there  materialized 
a  shape,  a  schooner  driving  ahead  of  the  wind.  The  refu 
gees  descried  her  simultaneously  and  stood  ankle  deep  in 
the  wash,  waving  their  hats  and  their  calabashes,  and 
shouting  crazily  until  she  saw  them  and  fetched  up. 

Intense  thanksgiving,  a  melting  relief,  robbed  O'Reilly 
of  half  his  strength;  his  hands  were  shaking,  his  muscles 
weak;  he  could  barely  bring  his  craft  alongside.  He  saw 
black  faces  staring  down,  he  heard  cries  of  amazement  and 
surprised  inquiries,  then  a  heaving-line  came  aboard  and 
the  leaky  tub  was  drawn  close. 

There  was  a  babble  of  voices,  shouted  questions,  hys 
terical  answers.  Rosa  was  weeping  softly;  Norine  had 
lifted  Este*ban  and  now  clutched  him  tight,  while  her 
tears  fell  upon  his  face. 

The  schooner  was  a  sponger  bound  for  Nassau;  its 
blackbird  crew  spoke  English  and  they  willingly  helped 
the  strangers  overside,  laughing  and  shouting  in  a  child 
like  display  of  excitement.  How  firm,  how  grateful  was 
the  feel  of  that  stout  deck!  How  safe  the  schooner's 
measured  roll!  O'Reilly's  knees  gave  way,  he  clutched 

372 


THE   OWL   AND   THE   PUSSY-CAT 

with  strained  and  aching  fingers  at  the  rigging  to  support 
himself,  leaving  Branch  and  Jacket  to  tell  the  surprising 
story  of  their  presence  here.  Soon  there  was  hot  food 
and  coffee,  dry  beds  and  blankets  for  those  who  needed 
them. 

Johnnie  tucked  his  bride  snugly  into  one  of  the  hard 
berths,  then  stooped  and  kissed  her.  Rosa's  teeth  were 
chattering,  but  she  smiled  happily. 

"God's  hand  directed  us,"  she  said.  "One  only  needs 
to  pray  long  enough  and  strong  enough  and  He  will  hear." 

It  was  a  month  later.  Quaint  old  Nassau  lay  dozing 
under  an  afternoon  sun.  Its  wide  shell  streets,  its  low 
houses,  the  beach  against  which  it  crowded,  were  dazzling 
white,  as  if  the  town  had  been  washed  clean,  then  spread 
out  to  bleach.  Upon  the  horizon  Jay  tumbled,  foamy 
cloud  masses,  like  froth  blown  thither  from  the  scene  of  the 
cleansing.  A  breeze  caused  the  surface  of  the  harbor 
to  dance  and  dimple  merrily,  the  sound  of  laughter  came 
from  the  water-front  where  barefoot  spongers  and  fisher 
men  were  busy  with  their  boats  and  gear.  Robust  ne- 
gresses  with  deep  bosoms  and  rolling  hips  balanced 
baskets  and  trays  upon  their  heads  and  stood  gossiping 
with  one  another  or  exchanging  shouts  with  their  men 
across  the  water.  There  was  noise  here,  but  the  town 
as  a  whole  was  somnolent,  peaceful.  It  sprawled  beside 
the  sea  like  a  lazy  man  lost  in  day  dreams  and  lulled  by 
the  lapping  surf  and  the  hum  of  insects. 

Up  from  the  beach  came  O'Reilly  and  his  youthful 
alter  ego,  Jacket.  They  were  clad  in  clean  white  clothes ; 
a  month  of  rest  had  done  them  good.  Jacket  was  no 
longer  wizened;  he  was  plump  and  sleek  and  as  full  of 
mischief  as  a  colt,  while  O'Reilly's  leanness  had  disap 
peared  and  he  filled  his  garments  as  a  man  should.  They 
had  spent  the  day  fishing  on  the  reefs  and  now  bore  home 
the  choicest  part  of  their  catch. 

373 


RAINBOW'S    END 

They  turned  in  through  a  picket  gate  and  up  a  walk 
flanked  by  flower-beds  and  outlined  between  rows  of 
inverted  glass  bottles  set  side  by  side,  the  Bahama  idea 
of  neatness  and  beauty.  At  the  end  of  the  walk  stood  a 
cottage  with  wide  porches  hidden  beneath  jasmine  and 
honeysuckle  and  morning-glory  vines. 

O'Reilly's  eyes  were  shining  with  anticipation;  he 
yodeled  loudly.  But  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  ad 
vertise  his  return,  for  at  the  first  click  of  the  gate-latch  a 
figure  had  started  from  the  fragrant  bower  and  now  came 
flying  to  meet  him. 

"Look,  Rosa!"  Jacket  lifted  the  heavy  string  of  fish. 
"We  had  stupendous  luck."  But  Rosa  was  in  her  hus 
band's  arms  and  neither  she  nor  O'Reilly  had  eyes  for 
anything  but  each  other. 

"You  were  gone  for  ages,"  pouted  the  bride. 

"You  missed  me,  eh?" 

"See!  I  caught  the  biggest  ones,  as  usual,"  Jacket 
boasted.  "  I'm  a  skilful  fisherman  and  I  talk  to  my  hook, 
but  O'Reilly  sits  dreaming  about  somebody  while  the 
little  crabs  eat  all  his  bait."  When  this  evoked  no  notice 
the  boy  shrugged  in  disgust  and  went  on  around  the  house, 
muttering:  "  Caramba!  You'd  think  they'd  get  sick  of  so 
much  billing  and  cooing.  But  no!  I  have  to  steal  him 
away  and  take  him  swimming  or  fishing  if  I  want  a  word 
alone  with  him.  And  the  others  are  just  as  bad — another 
pair  of  pigeons.  It's  like  living  in  a  dove-cote." 

Rosa,  too,  had  vastly  changed.  She  was  clad  in  a 
charming  little  muslin  dress,  there  were  dimples  in  her 
cheeks,  she  wore  a  heavy  Marechal  Neil  bud  at  her 
breast.  O'Reilly  held  her  off  and  devoured  her  with  his 
eyes. 

"  Sweetheart,  you  grow  fresher  and  more  beautiful  every 
hour,"  said  he. 

Rosa  danced  upon  her  toes,  and  tugged  at  him.  "But 
come  quickly  and  see  the  surprise  we  have.  I've  been 

374 


THE   OWL   AND   THE   PUSSY-CAT 

wild  for  your  return,  so  hurry."  She  led  him  swiftly  up 
the  steps,  and  there,  standing  beside  a  chair,  was  Este'ban 
Varona.  "He  dressed  himself  and  walked  out  here  alone. 
He's  well!" 

"Este'ban!    Really—" 

The  brother  nodded  decisively.  "It's  true.  I  re 
belled  at  last.  To-morrow  I'll  walk  to  the  gate  and  the 
next  day  we'll  go  fishing." 

"Jove!    How  splendid!" 

"Why,  I'm  as  firm  on  my  feet  as  a  rock." 

Norine  emerged  through  one  of  the  French  windows 
and  explained:  "He  took  advantage  of  me  while  I 
was  gone  for  the  mail,  and  now  he's  quite  out  of  con 
trol.  Here's  a  letter  from  Leslie,  by  the  way.  He's 
home  and  has  a  position  and  hopes  we'll  follow  soon. 
There's  one  bit  of  news;  he  says  the  talk  of  interven 
tion  increases  and  he  may  have  to  return  to  Cuba  as 
a  war  correspondent.  Fancy!  He's  deathly  frightened 
at  the  prospect." 

1 '  Intervention !    That  would  be  fine, ' '  Este'ban  cried. 

O'Reilly  nodded.  "Oh,  it's  bound  to  come,  and  when 
Uncle  Sam  takes  hold  Cuba  will  be  free." 

Norine  agreed:  "I'm  sure  of  it.  And  then  —  we'll 
all  go  back  to  our  rainbow's  end  and  dig  for  that  pot 
of  gold." 

Este'ban  turned  adoring  eyes  upon  the  speaker;  he 
took  her  hand  in  his.  "I've  found  my  rainbow's  end," 
said  he. 

"And  I've  found  mine,"  O'Reilly  asserted.  "I've 
gained  your  father's  treasure,  and  more — I've  found  the 
prize  of  all  the  Indies."  With  his  arm  about  Rosa  he 
drew  her  into  the  house. 

Este'ban  lowered  himself  into  his  chair  and  Norine 
rested  herself  upon  its  arm.  He  lay  back  with  eyes 
closed.  From  the  regions  at  the  rear  came  the  voice  of 
Jacket.  The  boy  was  in  a  declamatory  mood.  He  had 

375 


RAINBOW'S    END 

gathered  an  audience,  as  was  his  daily  custom,  and  was 
addressing  them  in  English: 

"  I  skilled  more'n  a  dozen  Spaniards  at  Pino  Bravo.  It 
was  my  day.  •  By  rights  I  should  have  been  made  a 
general,  but — " 


THE  END 


A     000132614     9 


iiiilii! 


